


Holding Onto Ghosts (And Your Hand)

by SkyFucker007



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Angst, Conversion Camp AU, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff, Happy Ending, Internalized Homophobia, LMFAO - Freeform, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Hinata Hajime, Probably ooc, Smut, also just homophobia in general, background bandaid, background soudam, camboy nagito, i really tried though, im horrible about commenting in the tags sorry, it's a plot device there isn't detailed porn abt that, it's my au i can pretend everything is fine if i want to, mental breakdowns, nagito komaeda is not ill, neither of them are major ships they're just there, slow burn?, this is really stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:01:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24030046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyFucker007/pseuds/SkyFucker007
Summary: “There are programs that can help you, Hinata, programs designed so that you can lead a normal and fulfilling life!”His eyebrows wrinkled. They were going to send him to a conversion camp?Well, he mused detachedly, at least he wasn’t going to have to figure out how to survive rummaging through garbage bins. Huh. That was a turn of events. He didn’t think they would want to spend the money on him to send him to one of those, considering they already complained nonstop about paying for his meals.AKA the fic that was supposed to be a "But im a cheerleader" AU.Go watch the movie it's amazing 10/10 you won't regret it. You don't need to have previous knowledge of the movie to read this though.
Relationships: Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito
Comments: 38
Kudos: 282





	1. Intro?

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> Thanks for deciding to click on this. I'm kind of a sucky writer but i'm trying so there's that.  
> Hope you enjoy! :3

Dread settled in the pit of Hajime’s stomach the second he walked through the door into his house. Both parents were standing in the kitchen - something they rarely ever did, looking expectant. 

For the life of him, he couldn’t recall anything he had done wrong. He was doing fine in school - despite being lonely and not having many friends. He had gone to a party a few weeks ago, but they had both known about it and let him.

What the hell had he done?

“What happened? You both look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

There was a period of silence, and the dread in the pit of his stomach grew. Was someone in the family dead? Surely not, they weren’t even close to family outside of this room, that wouldn’t warrant the looks they were giving him. He furrowed his brow and tossed his backpack onto the bench next to the door, walking further into the room.

“Maybe you should sit down.”

Only then did Hajime notice the other person in the room, a rather tall man with a sunken face and greasy, slicked back hair. He beamed at Hajime, reaching out and shaking his hand vigorously. 

“Sure.” Hajime muttered, plopping down on the couch and sighing. He was really too exhausted for mind games right now.

His parents sat across from him, the awkward tension in the air almost palpable. He could have laughed, if it wouldn’t have made the tension worse.

It felt like a fucking intervention.

He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands, trying to blink the exhaustion out of them. He fought off the urge to yawn. Again, this wasn’t really an appropriate situation to do that.

“What.” He repeated, staring over at his parents and the stranger, leaning forward on their elbows like they were bracing to tell him something.

“Hajime, you know we care about you a lot,” his father started, wringing his hands in his lap. He was a tired looking man, with bags under his eyes and glasses that looked like a stray breeze could push them right off his nose.

He waited a few seconds, but his father seemed to be struggling to add words onto the end of that phrase.

“Uh huh,” Hajime said, figuring it would be rude to not reply. In truth, it wasn’t as if they showed it. They were both business people who spent the majority of their lives working on their careers. He was a mistake and an obstacle, and he knew as much, even if they never said it directly to his face. He was just glad they cared about him to some degree.

Enough to not put him up for adoption, at least, even though their love more often than not came off as pressure to be the perfect son.

“And, well,” his father continued, fidgeting uncomfortably in his seat and looking to the side. 

“We found this picture of you,” was his mother’s voice cutting in impatiently. She held up her phone for him to see, and his heart leapt into his throat.

A vague memory resurfaced from the night of the party.

Actually, in any situation other than this, he would feel much more guilty about not remembering when exactly it was taken. Maybe he had a little too much of the questionable drink he’d been handed. Now a vague annoyance flickered in his stomach. Who the hell had taken that picture, anyway?

It didn’t really matter now, he supposed with a kind of detached objectiveness. Would he be kicked out, perhaps? Left to fend for himself on the streets?

The photo was blurry, and dark, and it was hard to tell what exactly was going on in it. It wasn’t like he hadn’t remembered the kiss - more like he had blocked it out because there were more important things on his mind.

Either way, the Hajime in the picture was standing there under dim lights, arms wrapped around and lips pressed firmly to someone who was undeniably male. 

His parents had expressed their distaste for homosexual relationships in the past. (It didn’t matter that he wasn’t even gay - he considered himself bi). Though he supposed neither of them really gave much of a shit what he did in his free time, the fact that this photo had somehow wound up online was probably what they were concerned about.

“It’s unnatural and unhealthy, and we just want what’s best for you.” His mother continued, clicking her phone screen off and placing her hands neatly in her lap.

Yeah, right. More like they wanted him to be the model son. More like they didn’t want to face the ridicule from their church the next time they went, from people who would undeniably criticize them as parents if nothing was done about it. More like they couldn’t stand the thought of their son doing something so ‘controversial’.

He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said, though he wasn’t.

“You know, that’s what I’m here for!”, the man said, a smile creeping across his face. He had a lilt to his voice that was unnaturally high and unnaturally cheerful, and it sounded as forced and fake as the smile.

“There are programs that can help you, Hinata, programs designed so that you can lead a normal and fulfilling life!”

His eyebrows wrinkled. They were going to send him to a conversion camp?

Well, he mused detachedly, at least he wasn’t going to have to figure out how to survive rummaging through garbage bins. Huh. That was a turn of events. He didn’t think they would want to spend the money on him to send him to one of those, considering they already complained nonstop about paying for his meals.

“Uh huh,” he repeated, deep sigh escaping his chest. He should have known something like this would happen. Why couldn’t he have just waited until he was living on his own? It was his senior year. He was legally an adult. Why had he been so stupid - not to kiss that guy - but to get caught? Fuck.

His father clasped his hands together, a smile beaming from his face. He didn’t think smiles were supposed to look so strained. He didn’t get why they were trying to make this sound like a good thing. It would be easier for everyone if they stopped trying to hide the disgust and disappointment.

“Great! Sato here will take you to the camp right away tonight. Your mother and I have packed your bags. We wouldn’t want you to get farther behind in their program than you already are.”

Hajime blinked at him, surprised. Sure, he had expected they would want to get rid of him as soon as possible, but right now? Standing up and walking stiffly to his room. It was almost surreal, walking through the house he had grown up in. 

Ironically, that was probably the most open conversation he had with his parents in years.

He didn’t think he would miss the empty halls.

He didn’t think he would miss the vacant stares from his classmates or the lonely nights spent counting bumps on the popcorn ceiling.

Still, a bit of hurt couldn’t help but crawl up his throat as he dropped to his knees in front of the suitcase in his room, rummaging through it and making sure he had everything he needed there. 

Parents weren’t supposed to look at their children with detachment, he thought absently, shoving a few extra books into his luggage and slinging it over his shoulder. They didn’t look at them with the disappointed, absent stare he was so familiar with in movies and TV shows, at least. 

Whatever. Life wasn’t a movie. 

He sighed again as he sat in the back of the car, the man his parents had referred to as ‘Sato’ talking absently about something or other to do with the camp. He stared out the window, watching everything he was so familiar with fall away in a blur of motion and time.

He probably should be focusing on what Sato was saying, but the man seemed content to mumble absently to himself, and he was talking a lot without really saying anything. Hinata felt dislike twist in his gut. What was the point?

What was the point of this camp? Making people live their lives in a way to please their overbearing parents or relatives. What was the point of this life? To fake everything in order to uphold others' opinions of you? What was the point of talking a lot and never saying anything, repeating yourself until the minds of those around you numbed out? He was so, so tired. 

He figured he must have passed out somewhere along the trip, because when the car rolled to a stop his eyes fluttered open. It didn’t seem like it had been that long of a ride, but apparently it had. He was going out of state for whatever the hell this camp was.

It was better like that, in a way, at least he probably wouldn’t know anyone here. 

He stretched and yawned loudly, earning a chuckle from Sato as he opened his door up for him, offering him a hand and grabbing his suitcase. 

It was morning, he realized with a start, blinking up at the sun rays slanting through the trees. He must have slept all night in the car. No wonder Sato’s eyebags looked significantly worse than they did yesterday.


	2. Group Therapy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahaha

Hajime wrung his hands absently, trying not to zone out completely as he was sat down in the little circle. There were both females and males grouped together for this activity - one of the only ones they got to see the opposite sex, ironically.

Group therapy. 

Everything about those two words put together in this situation made his stomach turn. He hated telling strangers how he felt on the best of occasions, and this wasn’t exactly what he considered ‘the best of occasions’. Shockingly. 

He recognized the boy who had shown him around when he first arrived, who gave him a cheerful little wave and smile - like he was actually happy to be here. 

Well, that made one of them at least. One out of maybe fourteen, counting both girls and boys. 

The chairs were uncomfortable.

It felt more like an interrogation room than therapy. Therapy was supposed to be soft couches and cups of tea and disclosing information at your own pace, not whatever the hell this was. Well, that’s how movies portrayed therapy, anyway.

It wasn’t like he had ever been, always keeping up the whole ‘perfect son’ facade for his parents and even his doctors.

Sato wasn’t here, for once, instead the counselor was a woman in her mid-30s with choppy ginger hair and a masked smile. He thinks her name was Suzuki, but he can’t be sure.

Hinata hated her right away, the way she batted fake eyelashes at him and gave him a strained grin that was just creepy enough to make his skin crawl. It was all fake. No - he didn't’ have a vendetta against fake eyelashes - it was the personality that bothered him. The lies.

It felt like home.

Which he considered was actually kind of ironic, because of how far away from home he was right now.

His skin prickled with apprehension when she sat down in a significantly more-comfortable looking chair, clearing her throat politely before flipping through a little notebook in front of her. 

“Alright everyone! I hope you’re ready to open up and really talk about your thoughts and feelings today, so we can get right to the root of the problem and start fixing you all up!”

The words were bright and honeyed, but she talked about them like machines instead of human beings. Like their feelings were programmed. Like she could open up their brains and rearrange them. Something about it made his skin crawl worse, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“Today we’ll be discussing when your problems started, and your reason for coming to this therapy. If we all open up about our thoughts and feelings, we can change them much more easily!”

Amazing. Wonderful. Hinata could describe in detail how he got blackout drunk at a party and ended up kissing a guy for the first time, and was unlucky enough to get a picture taken and shown to his parents. He could explain what a fucking degenerate he was - to not even really remember the kiss until the evidence was right in front of his own face.

He was really looking forward to it.

“We’ll be going in a circle today, guys, so i’m starting with this lovely lady over here.” The woman adjusted her notebook, staring directly at a girl with dark purple hair and a very nervous expression.

She fidgeted with her skirt, shifting on the edge of her chair, and looked about three seconds from bolting. 

“U-um. Well, I’m here because I - I- I’m a l-l-lesbian. And I - and I started to um. I realized I liked girls when. Um. Like, a month ago. I was sent here when I admitted it to my p-parents.”

“Thank you for sharing, Tsumiki. We’ll come back to your reason for liking the same sex later.”

She nodded, looking relieved.

Sitting next to her was a loud girl with spiked earrings and wild hair, who admitted freely that her friend who she used to be in a band with made her realize that she liked other girls. And after that a boy with short black hair. And after that another girl. And after that two more of the boys.

Hajime realized quickly that most kids were here either because their parents had caught them with another member of the same sex, like his had, or had freely admitted to their parents their preference and were sent here as punishment.

It was mostly the same story, over and over again, with variations.

Emphasis on mostly.

Because when it came to the white haired, dangerously skinny boy sitting almost directly across from him, nothing could have prepared him for what was about to come out of his mouth.

“I realized I liked boys when I was a little kid,” he frowned, pulling his soft green jacket closer around himself. “I had a crush on one of the boys in my homeroom class. I didn’t even realize it wasn’t normal until later.”

The counselor lady raised a thin eyebrow at him, flipping through her notebook pages absently for a moment before tapping her finger on something with a look of slight disgust.

“True as that may be, Komaeda here is even more sinful than the rest of you in one respect. Care to tell them why you’re here?”

Komaeda looked utterly unbothered, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees. 

“My landlord told me I needed to come here to keep residency at my parents’ house. I maintain a live broadcast online which he discovered. Needless to say, that was a rather awkward conversation.”

Hinata blinked for a moment, confused by how exactly that had landed him here. A live broadcast - like on.. Youtube? Did he talk about being gay a lot, or something?

“What Komaeda means by that is, of course, he appeals to the anonymous masses.”

“I fuck myself in front of a camera, Suzuki-san. There’s no way to sugar-coat it, though I do appreciate your attempts,” Nagito says simply, blinking over at her even as she blanches. 

Ah. Well, that cleared that up, at least. So he was a camboy. Hajime can’t help the way he stares at Komaeda incredulously, wondering how he could admit something so freely. What did his parents think of his behavior? Why was it his landlord of all people who had convinced him to come here?

He’s sure his face is more flushed, second hand embarrassment creeping through him, and he’s not even the one who just admitted to making porn.

“Thank you for that, Komaeda,” the counselor mutters, turning to the next person. 

The admissions carry on after that, though nothing is really as eventful. As if anything even could be. Hinata mumbles something vague about messing around at a party, which is technically true, but feels downright vanilla compared to the white haired boy across from him.

“How could you just admit something like that?,” Hinata asks him, after the therapy lets out for lunch, walking up next to him. Because fuck it, he’s curious. He can hardly admit to himself that he’s bi, when he’s sober, let alone tell a roomful of people something that personal.

Komaeda looks surprised, and shrugs a bony shoulder with a smile that looks all too innocent for the situation. White hair shifts over his eyes as he turns to look at Hinata, and he barely avoids tripping on a loose pavement stone.

It… really shouldn’t be cute.

“I just like making people feel good, is all,” is the admission. It sounds genuine, too, and his smile (faint as it is) isn’t as forced as all the other smiles Hinata’s seen in this place. “And I don’t see it as that big of a deal. It’s not as if the others would be wrong to perceive me as disgusting after such an admission, of course.”

Hinata blinks, wavering in his step. Everything about this guy is contradictory - from the way self-loathing slips so easily off his tongue to the gentle, sweet smile to the admission of what he does in his free time.

“Oh.” Is his only response, mostly because he can’t think of anything else to say to that. He watches the white head of hair as he walks away, slowing down his own steps. Komaeda doesn’t seem to mind, or seem surprised, content to walk on his own.

In a way, he’s grateful for the weird boy, he thinks, even as he watches him sit by himself as he eats his lunch. He looks utterly unbothered, calm, gentle. But his admission had made the counselors focus their disdain on him rather than anyone else. It made Hinata’s blackout drunk kiss seem like nothing, really.


	3. And They Were Roommates

“Now, I want everyone to find a partner to work with the rest of the time here. You’ll be building off of and learning from each other, so choose carefully. They will also be your room-mate, because we have very limited space in the dorms. Two people per room, and you get bunk beds. If we find out any ‘funny business’ happens in those rooms, you’re out immediately.”

Hinata looked around carefully, fully aware the rest of the people were already going to be scrambling to find partners. He did have a slight disadvantage here, considering this was his first day as opposed to those who had been here for a few days already, waiting for the camp to really start.

He sighed, waiting for the majority of people to be done. He didn’t really care. There wasn’t anyone he liked here, just as there wasn’t anyone he particularly hated. It was just until this was all over. And he could go back to his normal life.

Unsurprisingly, Komaeda ended up being left over after everyone’s partners had been chosen. He doubted anyone wanted to share a room with the person the counselors had decided to focus the brunt of their hatred on.

He walked over to stand by him.

“How unfortunate. You must truly have bad luck to be paired with me, Hinata-kun. I deeply apologize for that,” he says gently, though his smile seems genuine enough.

“It’s... fine,” Hinata mutters, really unsure of how to deal with Komaeda’s self deprecation. Because was it really fine? It didn’t seem fine to let him say those things about himself. 

“That’s very kind of you,” he says, and the corners of his eyes crinkle a little in happiness. His eyes are weirdly pale, an off shade of gray-green, Hinata notices absently. Because Nagito doesn’t seem to have much concern for personal space.

There’s no mask.

Hinata realizes he’s holding his breath. Like he’s waiting for Komeada to drop the facade and stare at him with the same apathy he’s been staring at Komaeda with. His heart does a little flip when it doesn’t, and he finds the corners of his own mouth twitching up into a hesitant smile.

He doesn’t smile much.

Doesn’t generally have a reason to, he supposes, because his ‘good son’ facade can be just as perfect if he doesn’t pretend to smile. A perfect son doesn’t need to be happy. Just successful and normal. 

The moment is over as Komaeda turns away from him, and he realizes that he’s supposed to be shown where they’re staying. 

They aren’t big or fancy rooms, which isn’t surprising, but they’re absolutely tiny. It feels more like a closet than a room, and Hinata wonders absently if that’s what they had been before this camp had taken over. 

The bunk beds are lined with stark, white sheets. 

The ceilings don’t have texture, he notices absently, and the walls are smooth blank white. There’s a little bathroom off the side of the rooms, small mirror, small sink, small toilet, small shower. 

He pities anyone in this place with claustrophobia, as he begins to dread the nights spent here. He can’t generally sleep in his own room, let alone this one. 

Nagito seems, again, absolutely unbothered. 

“What bunk would you prefer?” he asks, setting down his own suitcase near the door and tilting his head thoughtfully.

Hinata sighs and shrugs. It couldn’t matter less to him, which bunk he had. He doesn’t have a preference. Nothing would make this place more or less appealing - it just exists. And there’s nothing he can do to change it.

So it doesn’t matter.

Nagito nods after a few seconds of scrutinizing Hinata’s face, as if he questions the sincerity of his indifference.

“I’ll take the bottom bunk then, I suppose. With my luck, I'd just end up falling off the top one,” he laughs lightly, sitting on the edge of the bed with a creak. 

He hardly looks heavy enough to make the mattress squeak, and Hinata winces when he wonders just how creaky the bed springs are. 

“Uh huh.”

Later that night Hinata reflects on it a little as he stares at the smooth ceiling. He was right, it turns out, and sleeping in this room is difficult if not impossible. He sighs and rolls over.

A faint clicking noise reaches his ears, and his brow furrows. 

After a few seconds of curiosity, he leans over the edge of the bunk and peers down at Nagito. Startled gray-green eyes meet his own, muted light washing over his features from a little flashlight in his hand. 

“Ah, my apologies, Hinata-kun. I didn’t think you could see the light from your bunk. I’ll be more considerate in the future,” he says, clicking off the little light and plunging them into relative darkness.

“No, I can’t - that’s not - I just wanted to see what the click was. It’s fine if you have a light on, I really can’t see it from up here normally,” He mutters, sitting up in hopes that’ll help him articulate himself a bit better. Maybe his brain needs to be vertical to work properly.

His head slams into the ceiling.

“AH! Fuck. That hurt,” He mutters, glaring absently at the offending surface and rubbing the spot on his head that aches. “I should have seen that coming.”

The light is back on, and he sees concerned eyes peering up at him through messy hair. “Are you alright? I can take the top bunk, if you want.”

Hinata laughs, rubbing his head. “Nah, it’ll be fine. I was just being stupid. I’ll get used to it.”

“If you say so,” Nagito says, ducking back into his own bed, though he doesn’t sound fully convinced. 

“So, what were you doing with the flashlight, anyway?” Hinata asks, deciding maybe talking while laying down is a better idea after all.

“Oh! I was just going to read a few of the books I brought with me. I’m not very good at falling asleep, so I suppose it’s become a habit. I’ll do my best to refrain while we’re rooming together, though, I wouldn’t want to keep you up.”

Hinata almost laughs. Almost. “Don’t worry about it. I can’t usually sleep at night either.”

And that’s the understatement of the century, he thinks, when he considers all the nights he’s laid awake staring up at the ceiling, dread welling in the pit of his stomach.

“So it’s fine if you want to read,” he concludes, turning over in an attempt to get just a little more comfortable. It doesn’t do hardly anything. The bed lets out a rather obnoxious groan.

“Thank you, Hinata-kun,” comes the soft voice from below him. He doesn’t really get why he’s being thanked, but it’s probably the least surprising thing that’s come out of Komaeda’s mouth today.

“Actually,” he considers, sitting up again and stretching (he’e extra careful not to slam his head into the ceiling this time), “Would you mind if I read too? I’d just do it, but… there’s not really space to properly sit up here.”

“Of course!” is the cheery response, and he blinks in confusion for a few seconds at the flashlight that’s being handed to him. He takes it. 

He feels a little self conscious as he climbs out of the bunk bed, not sure if this is a good idea after all, but he supposes it’s better than staring blankly at the ceiling and dreading tomorrow.

He stumbles his way over to the door and gets a random book from his suitcase, glad he thought ahead enough to pack them. He’s not terribly fond of any of them, but they’re mildly interesting if nothing else. Komaeda scoots over on his bed and pats the space next to him, wedging the flashligh between the mattress and the bedframe above so that it’s shining down on both of them. 

It’s weird, he thinks absently, as he sits down with a creak and scoots over until his back is up against one of the bedposts. This really isn’t what he expected this camp to be like. From his roommate to staying up reading.

He notices Nagito’s eyes on the spine of his book with a vague interest, flickering to look up at his face instead. 

“I didn’t take you for one to read science journals.”

It’s blatant and quiet, though it’s not judging. Hinata just shrugs his shoulders. “I’m not, really. My family isn’t big on fiction books, though,” he muses, and crosses his legs to get more comfortable. 

Nagito’s eyes light up a little bit in child-like excitement, and he leans over the edge of the bed for a moment. Hajime’s about to ask what the hell he’s even doing when he pulls out a rather thick stack of books and sets them on the bed in-between them. “If you’re interested, you’re welcome to read any of these. They’re my favorites, from the library back home. Of course, please don’t feel obligated”

He blinks in surprise. “Oh, uh, thank you. Sure.”

Nagito goes back to reading whatever it is that he’s reading, which Hinata can’t see because he’s sitting in what’s basically a loose fetal position with his knees pulled up in front of him. 

He has little dog designs on his pajama pants, along with a very oversized shirt. He refuses to think it’s cute, so instead he studies the pile of books.

He supposes it wouldn’t be bad to expand his horizons, it’s not like his parents are here to reprimand him for ‘indulging in fantasies’ rather than pursuing an ‘actual career’ or reading ‘real literature’. 

There are a weird mix of books in the pile, that’s for sure. They range from thriller to romance to comedy to fantasy. He decides to just pick randomly. He’s at an utter loss about what his preference is, since it would be unfair to judge them just for the categories they’re in.

The book he ends up picking up is a horror story, funnily enough (considering he’s going to try to sleep after reading for a while). 

He becomes so engrossed in the plot he doesn’t even notice how much time has passed until he gets about halfway through. 

Minutes seem to slip by, then hours, until he’s not really sure at all how long it’s been since he crawled down here. His back is starting to hurt from being propped up against the hard post.

He carefully folds one of the paperback cover flaps in to mark his place, making sure he isn’t messing up these books his roommate seems to care about so much. 

It’s only then that he notices Nagito’s fallen asleep, white hair fallen across his eyes and chin tilted down to his chest. His breath is rising and falling steadily, though it doesn’t look like a very comfortable position.

Silently, Hinata slips his feet off the bed. He puts the books back under the bed, taking Nagito’s from his resting hands and marking the place before stacking it on the others. He clicks off the flashlight and sets it next to the books before sighing softly, wondering what to do.

Surely, Nagito would wake up with a crick in his neck and a headache if he continued to sleep like that. Hinata would know, he’s fallen asleep like that before plenty of times. 

He ignores the way his heart jumps into his throat as Nagito stirs, instead opting to gently wrap his arms around his thin frame and guide him down into a relatively normal sleeping position. 

He’s scarily light.

Hajime wonders how often he eats, and doesn’t like the flicker of concern in his chest. It’s none of his business. He shouldn’t - doesn’t care. He slides his arms out from under his roommate and climbs up into his own bunk bed.

Somehow, musing over the plot of a horror story is more comforting to fall asleep to than his own existential dread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god, they were roommates


	4. Short Chapter Is Short

Hajime shuffled in irritation, staring up at the dinghy compartment of the car with a kind of abject horror.

Dust rained down into his eyes.

What a fucking stupid concept of heteronormativity. Ah yes, let’s have the boys go out and learn how to fix machinery in order to get in touch with their more ‘masculine’ sides. He wasn’t even really gay, it wasn’t like he didn’t like girls. He just liked both.

How was fixing a nasty old car going to help him stop wanting to fuck other men? What the hell?

Maybe, he thought absently, it was aversion therapy. Like helping guys fix cars would make him associate the two, and so he’d do his best to avoid both. That was really his best guess.

“Can you hand me a screwdriver,” he mumbled to his partner, who was also struggling - he was sorting tools in a toolbox.

He heard a loud crash and frantically shoved himself out from under the car, sitting up and blinking the grime from his eyes. He didn’t really have anything to worry about, it turns out, because it was just his partner being an idiot.

Objectively, he knew that he shouldn’t be annoyed at Nagito for dropping everything all over the floor. He had seen the pale boy’s arms shake when he picked up the box the first time. But it was just that, he was so tired of this stupid program, and Nagito was being a rather functionally useless partner.

He was crouched down on the floor, trying to clean up his mess. He blinked up at Hinata’s annoyed expression, and gave an apologetic smile.

Hinata hated the way his heart skipped a beat when he saw those dimples. 

“Ah! I’m very sorry, Hinata-kun. It seems my incompetence has caused another disaster.” He mumbled, expression turning to one of self loathing. He fished around in the pile of various metal and plastic until he pulled out a screwdriver and handed it to Hinata.

A gash on his arm was bleeding. He must have scraped himself trying to catch the falling box. 

“Mhm,” was Hinata’s only reply. 

He crouched down beside the white haired boy, dropping the screwdriver onto the floor in favor of grabbing Nagito’s arm gently. Nagito flinched so hard he almost fell over again.

“Let me see that,” Hinata muttered, turning his arm over gently to look at the gash. It wasn’t as bad as it looked right now, probably, but the red was spreading rather than slowing down.

“Hinata-kun is so kind to look after someone such as -”

Hinata’s hand reached out, and he placed it firmly over Nagito’s mouth. He was really sick of the constant stream of self deprecation. Nagito’s face flushed red and he quickly glanced down at the floor. Hinata tried desperately to ignore the feeling of Nagito’s lips against his hand and failed. Shit, why had he thought that was a good idea again?

He shook himself out of his thoughts, jerking his hand away like Nagito’s mouth was burning to the touch.

“Shut up. It would be bad if you bled all over everything, then we’d just have to clean that too,” he mutters in excuse, standing up and gently pulling Nagito to his feet.

Nagito says nothing, but his eyes widen and he nods. 

The white haired boy seems to take that more as an order than a suggestion when they go into the little bathroom in the workshop, Hinata opening the dusty cabinet and rummaging for the first aid kid he knows is supposed to be there.

Ah! There it is. Although it’s half empty. Gauze tape will have to do for now, he supposes. Nagito doesn’t complain when he washes the gash out with a little soap and water, though it must hurt. He positively beams at Hinata when he finishes wrapping up the cut, and between his wispy white hair and the dim bathroom light and the way he’s smiling, he looks half angelic.

“Hinata-kun?” The voice is tentative, like he doesn’t know if he’s still not allowed to speak. 

“What,” Hinata mutters, breaking out of the little trance he’s in because fuck. It doesn’t matter if Nagito’s pretty in this light, he’s crazy and self loathing and the opposite of what this camp is supposed to be for.

“Thank you,” is the tentative response, pale fingers trailing over where Hinata had slapped the bandage down a few moments before.

“Yeah, don’t mention it,” he chokes out in response, turning around and leaving the bathroom a bit too quickly. 

The rest of the day passes rather uneventfully, Hinata half-listening to Nagito’s ramblings as he hands him tools and gives him rather questionable advice. He really does sound like a madman half the time he’s talking, but there’s something lonely about it. Something Hinata can relate to.


	5. Wow bro thats kinda gay

At the bonfire that night, they all get a cup of hot cider for a job well done. Hinata’s glad he was at least allowed to shower before coming out here, to get the stench of grease and metal off of him. It’s kind of disgusting, he thinks absently, but he certainly doesn’t feel as strongly about it as Nagito does.

He remembers the whitette’s look of genuine disgust when he sees his face in the mirror, smudged with grease. Remembers the way he scrubbed his pale hands until they turned raw and red. 

“Maybe you should be a girl, instead, learning to clean house,” he had snorted, smirking at Nagito teasingly.

Nagito had actually looked thoughtful at this, and explained his love for cleaning to Hinata. Which was kind of contradictory, considering his constant verbal affirmations of how disgusting he was.

Speaking of Nagito, he was sitting beside him on the little straw bale, cup of cider clenched between his hands as if he was using it to warm himself up rather than drinking it.

He’s always wearing his jacket, no matter where he goes, so Hajime supposes absently that he must be freezing now that the temperature has actually dropped. 

“You don’t like cider?” Hinata asks curiously, noticing that there’s been hardly a sip taken out of the glass.

Nagito looks surprised, like he genuinely didn’t think Hinata would take the time of day to notice something like that about himself. The gentle smile is back, again, as he stares over at Hinata through pale white lashes. “No, I much prefer salty things to sweet ones.”

“What’s that supposed to mean,” Hinata almost laughs, catching it halfway up his throat. 

“What do you think it means?” Nagito’s eyes are narrowed, calculating, as he leans closer to the fire. The warm glow makes his hair a soft golden color, rather than the pale white it usually is. The bastard. Like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. His eyes flicker down for a second, before meeting Hinata’s eyes again.

Hinata’s really sick of it, he decides, huffing even as his cheeks flush. “That’s not- why do you keep doing shit like that?! Are you trying to get us in trouble?”

“I’m simply telling the truth,” Nagito’s eyes widen, like he’s taken aback by the annoyance. Like Hinata hasn’t acted annoyed at him since day one. “This place doesn’t actually change anyone. It just teaches us how to pretend, and how disgusting we are.” He laughs, eyes swirling with something unreadable. “As if I needed a reminder of how filthy someone like me truly is. Not that I think that way about anyone else here, of course. Someone as filthy and worthless as myself should never be allowed to even be in the presence of the shining light of hope in the others.”

Hinata’s really over it. Something in him snaps, and he grabs Nagito by the jacket to - well, he doesn’t really know. Ground him? Shake some sense into him? Something like that. Nagito’s eyes widen farther at the expression he’s sure he must be making, but he can’t help it. Everything about him is just so infuriating, and he’s so tired. He just wants to get past this stupid program so he can get back to his life. So he can get back to his family.

So he can get back to those faces, the empty smiles, the hollow words, the strange looks, the dark halls, the popcorn ceiling. The loathing in the pit of his own stomach. The dread of another day of being a disappointment.

“Do you think i don’t - fucking know that?! Do you think I don’t think about that every single fucking day? You think you’re the only one here who’s hated. You think you’re somehow worse than any of us. You’re not. Why the fuck do you think we’re here, anyway? Because of ‘care’ and ‘concern’ and ‘respect for a normal lifestyle’?!” He takes a breath, lowers his voice a bit, though he’s pretty sure none of the camp counselors heard them anyway. “We’re here because of - because we’re hated. So you can just - shut the fuck up about whatever you think is wrong with you because you’re not worse than anyone else.”

Nagito’s staring at him like a deer in headlights, and Hinata realizes how hard he’s gripping his jacket. He lets go abruptly, practically shoving Nagito away from him. The white haired boy almost falls over backwards, putting his arms out just in time to stop himself.

“Whatever. Just. Whatever. I don’t even know why I care. It’ll probably go in one ear and out the other. Asshole.”

He stands up abruptly, and ignores the stares he gets as he marches straight past the other ‘campers’ and to his dorm. 

He flops down on his bunk, staring at the ceiling, glad for once that he has the top bunk so that Nagito can’t see that his eyes are still open when he walks into the room later. 

Nobody will care if he goes to bed early.

Whatever rage was building up is gone now, replaced with what feels like a hole in his chest. The dread is back, and he shuts his eyes to block out all the uncertainty. When he takes a deep breath, he’s surprised to feel himself shaking.

His eyes are moist when he raises a hand to rub at them, and he feels himself jolt in surprise. He’s… crying? Huh.

Why?

He doesn’t want to think about it. Doesn’t want to consider that it’s guilt for the way he yelled at Nagito. Because he’d deserved it. He deserved to be told he wasn’t the only one who hated themself. Deserved to be shoved back with that surprised, hurt look on his face.

Maybe it would shake some sense into him.

So why did seeing that look on his face hurt so much?

His breath slowly returns to normal, his eyes dry out. It doesn’t change the dread in his stomach, squeezing at his throat like it’s trying to suffocate him.

He’s almost lost consciousness by the time Nagito actually comes into the room, the only telltale sign being the ever-quiet footsteps and the creak of the shitty door. He holds his breath as the white haired boy walks over, plopping down onto his own bunk bed with another creak. 

“Hinata-kun?”

He curses whatever god let Nagito think speaking was a good idea. Because he’s still mad at him. Because anger is the only explanation for the way his heart beats a little faster.

“Hey, I,” the whitette trails off, and there’s a shift of fabric. Hinata can picture him gripping the bedsheets or his jacket, like he does so often. He wonders if it’s to keep him grounded. He remembers he’s not supposed to care. “I’m sorry. I-I’m. S-sorry. You’re right. I’m selfish to think that I’m the only one here who knows we’re all pretending. It’s selfish to- to think that. I’m the only one who’s hated. That i - that i’m the only one who hates myself.”

Hinata’s breath catches in his throat. He hadn’t expected that - had expected his little rant to go in one ear and out the other as Nagito dismisses it as pity or something of the like. 

“Hinata-kun?”

There’s a creak of bedsprings again, and Hinata almost, almost has the audacity to pretend he’s still sleeping. He sighs instead, propping himself up on his elbows.

“Yeah.” Is the response he gives, not sure what to say to that. Thanking Nagito feels wrong, when he’s the one who yelled at him earlier anyway. He takes a deep breath.

And Nagito doesn’t seem to expect anything else, the room going silent as he settles into his own bed. The guilt is back, clawing at Hinata’s stomach and throat, like words are trying to escape. And maybe just this once he doesn’t have to pretend he doesn’t feel anything. Because who is Nagito going to tell, really?

In a weird way, he trusts the white-haired boy. At least enough to not repeat conversations.

“I’m sorry too,” he breathes eventually, the words coming out half-strangled. Because there’s still a part of him that’s righteous about yelling at Nagito - it seems to have done something, after all. 

He knows it’s not all Nagito’s fault, though. It’s everything that’s led up to this point. He was just the one unlucky enough to be there when Hajime’s repressed emotions finally spewed out in a monologue of swearing and stammering. 

“For what,” Nagito asks, breathlessly, and Hinata could swear he was laughing. He doesn’t really see what’s so funny about it.

“For taking out my anger on you.”

“Don’t be sorry about such a thing, Hinata-kun. I’m glad you told me how you feel. And you’re right, you know. I would much rather you yell at me than any of the others - in fact, i would welcome it if it would help you in any way. Perhaps I could even be a little… useful.”

“That’s why i’m sorry,” Hinata sits up, nearly smacking his head on the ceiling, raking his hands through his hair in frustration. “Did you even listen? I yelled at you because I - because you’re not worthless. Because it messes with my head whenever you say that shit about yourself. Because I.” he trails off, snapping his mouth shut at the last second as his mind whirls.

“Because you?” Nagito asks almost tentatively, like he’s afraid if he speaks up Hinata won’t ever tell him. He might be right, Hinata thinks for a moment, before he squeezes his eyes shut and thinks fuck it, because he’s already such a goddamn disaster and it cant possibly get much worse.

“Because I hate that you can’t see anything good about yourself, when it’s so obvious to me.”

He hears a sharp little intake of breath, and gets ready for the onslaught of denial and self loathing sure to pour out of Nagito’s mouth.

Nothing happens.

The silence stretches, but it seems like Nagito just isn’t going to respond. Huh. Maybe he had taken Hinata’s advice, for once.

“Goodnight, Hinata-kun,” he hears, just as he’s about to drift off into blissful unconsciousness. It’s weirdly breathy, like Nagito’s trying to half-whisper. It’s just a good-night. It has no right to make Hinata’s heart beat out of his chest like it does. Maybe he’s just developing a heart condition. Hopefully. That would be less complicated, at least.

“G’night,” he mumbles with the utmost eloquence, shoving his face into the pillow as he rolls over and stares at the wall, exhaustion slipping over him and dragging him into unconsciousness.


	6. Chats

The days almost blur together, with the way they’re passing by. Everyday is just rinse and repeat - you are disgusting. You are wrong. You are everything wrong with the world. But not to us - we’re kind enough to see past that and help you. Fix you.

It’s, shockingly, not a great experience.

Every time he meets his eyes in the mirror he can’t help the hatred in them. He can’t help the way that he wonders about what it would be like if he was just - normal. If his parents just hadn’t found out.

Or if he just wasn’t the way that he is. How easy it must be, to like girls exclusively. To have your life planned for you from childhood with no little hiccups or bumps like attraction to the same gender. How easy.

Maybe if he wasn’t like this, there would be pride in their eyes for once.

Fucking faggot.

The disappointment on their faces wasn’t new. It was just for a stronger reason this time.

He misses the popcorn ceiling.

There’s nothing to look at on the one at the camp, really, it’s just smooth. No bumps to count, no dots to connect. He feels blank, sometimes. 

Then again, life might be easier if it was like that all the time. A clean slate. No emotions to get in the way.

What was the point of all of it?

He rolled over and peered over the top bunk, and, seeing that Nagito was still reading, scooted over to the ladder and started to go down.

Maybe he could read with him.

Maybe they could talk.

Or something.

Nagito looks up from his book with a little welcoming smile, patting the bed next to him and shifting to make room - sitting cross-legged instead of sprawled out now.

It’s become a kind of tradition for them to just sit here at night - either talking or reading. Strangely enough, after their fight, things had gotten a lot easier between them. More comfortable.

So he doesn’t feel too awkward when he sits down and doesn’t even reach for a book, just flopping out across the bed with a little sigh.

It’s not really unexpected when Nagito sets aside his own book, looking at Hinata sprawled out with an expression he can’t identify. There’s a weird obligation he seems to feel to keep Hinata ‘entertained’. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” Komeada asks, shifting again so he’s laying down next to Hinata. 

“Yeah.”

“Me either. Of course, it’s to be expected. I haven’t slept well since I got to this place.”

“Same”

It’s short, but Komeada doesn’t seem to mind that he doesn’t put the very most effort into talking to him, seeming content for the moment to just lay there in silence. 

“Hinata-kun?”

So much for that. Whatever, it’s not like he really minds either way.

“I may be out of line for me to say this… but, it’s very nice to have someone to spend time with. I really like y - I really like your company.”

A little smile creeps onto his face despite himself - he can’t help it. He blinks over at Nagito, whose features look harsher under the flashlight. His hair still looks soft enough to run his fingers through.

“I like your company, too,” Hinata admits. Sure, he’s weird and annoying at times, but he’s… pleasant to be around. There’s something about the comfortable silence that blankets them that’s so nice. It feels… right.

“I haven’t been close to anyone in a very long time, Hinata-kun.”

“Even your parents?”

Komeada laughs, though there isn’t really any humor in it. “My parents are dead. They died when I was a little kid. That’s why i- that’s why my landlord sent me here.”

Hinata just nods, because he can’t really think of anything to say to that. “So you know your landlord well?”

Komaeda sighs and props himself up on his elbows, eyebrows furrowing. “No. My parents never fully paid for the house, so I rent it using money I inherited. He’s technically in control of my stay.”

“You want to stay… because it’s your parents house,” Hinata realizes, blinking. He supposes it makes sense. Komaeda had never seemed interested in the slightest in ‘conversion’ and had always stuck by the fact that it couldn’t change him. But he was still here for a reason.

In a twisted way, he was here because of his parents, too. 

Hajime felt guilt nip at his chest - he didn’t really have a right to complain about his current situation. At least he had a family left to care about him. At least he wouldn’t be returning to an empty house when all of this was over.

His breath caught in his throat as he turned back to Nagito, who was staring at the bunk above them. He looked like his mind was really far away.

It wasn’t fair that he was that pretty.

Hinata pulls his eyes away, swallowing hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ur parents died horribly? shit bro thats kinda hot


	7. Sneaking Out

Hinata wakes up to the gentle tap of fingers on his arm, startling a bit. He rolls over, peering over the edge of his bed at Nagito, who he can’t really make out in the darkness save for a silhouette. 

“Hinata-kun, we’re sneaking out. Do you want to come?”

If he wasn’t awake before, he certainly is now, sitting up and barely ducking in order to avoid the ceiling. “You’re what? Nagito, you could get caught. We barely have any time left in this stupid program, anyway, just a few more weeks.”

“You’re right, of course, but there’s nothing I can do to stop those who want to sneak out. So, if nothing else, I would love to join them and see some hope shine on their faces as opposed to this abject misery.”

Hajime hates that he kind of gets it. The past few weeks have seemed like a blur of humiliation and hatred and brainwashing, sugar-coated lies being shoved down his throat. 

“Besides,” Nagito continues thoughtfully, “It’s not like the security system is hard to sneak past. There are a bunch of blind spots in the hall cameras, and a spot directly under the head counselor’s window just begging to be an escape path.”

He almost asks how Nagito knows so much about sneaking past security cameras, but then decides he’s too tired for a long winded story. It would be hard to both listen and sneak out.

Nagito, he thinks, is the opposite of sugar-coated lies. He’s gentle, and kind, and has a smile that could light up rooms, but everything about his personality is a reflection of the harsh reality of this world.

Maybe that’s why he agrees to go, in the end, though he hates to admit it - lacing his own fingers with graceful pale ones and letting himself be helped down from his bunk.

“There are a gay couple who live a few miles from here. They’re ex-graduates of this camp. They’re now dedicated to providing people with different perspectives,” Nagito explains breathlessly, tugging on his hand a little as he leads him down the hallway, shimmying along the wall to avoid the security camera’s glassy eye. 

Hajime’s really glad Nagito’s with him, because he apparently has the state of mind to be worried about such things right now. The only thing Hinata can think about right now is the cold fingers laced between his own and the sparkle in those pale green eyes. 

He’s breathless as he crouches down, shooting a glance over his shoulder at Hajime before ducking and tiptoeing almost comically under the head-counselor’s window. Hajime stifles a laugh, but his smile must show on his face, because when Nagito looks back at him it’s reflected tenfold.

He follows. 

Because when Nagito’s smiling like that, how could he not?

He wonders, for a brief moment, how his life got to this point.

There’s a truck idling by the gates of the camp, a bit too far away for anyone to see who hasn’t been clued in about it. Wait - he thinks absently -how had Nagito known about it?

His mind blanks for a second as the black door swings open and Nagito hops in without hesitation, pulling him in afterwards. They end up in kind of an awkward pile on the floor, and he desperately hopes it’s too dark for the flush on his face to show up.

“How did you know about this?” He asks in a hushed whisper, ignoring the way he’s pressed up against Nagito’s side. Well, trying to, at least. 

“I completely forgot to tell you, but I found this crumpled up note! It must have been from one of the other people, but I was lucky enough to stumble across it.”

Nagito reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tattered piece of paper, unfolding it to let Hinata skim-read it.

“Hey, guys! Is that the last of you?” A man with neon pink hair pulled back into a ponytail asks, leaning around the seat and grinning at them. Hinata’s almost startled - he can’t be any older than they are. Perhaps he went through the program at a younger age?

“I think so!” the girl with wild hair replies, snuggling happily into the side of her purple-haired companion. Mikan, he remembers, but he can’t remember the other’s name. Ibuki, maybe?

There are only seven people in total in the truck, but Hinata supposes that any more than that would be too hard to fit. The truck pulls away from the tree with a few bumps, leaving him clinging desperately to the seat so he doesn’t fall directly onto Nagito. 

“That doesn’t look very comfortable,” Nagito observes, quirking an eyebrow. Before he can even respond, thin arms are wrapping around his waist and pulling him flush to the other. He’s sure he makes a rather undignified noise, but with any luck it’s lost to the rumble of the engine.

“Sorry. I think this is safer, though.”

He can feel his fucking breath in his ear. He’s going to die, probably, if the way his heart is beating is any indication at all. 

“Fine,” he responds, brain too short-circuited to really come up with anything else to say. 

Nagito’s cold, and bony, and the way he’s practically sitting on him isn’t really comfortable. Weirdly enough, he doesn’t think he minds.

Actually, by the end of the ride, he takes back that statement. The way bones dig into his skin isn’t exactly painless. If anyone's going to be sitting on anyone’s lap from now on, he thinks, it should be the other way around. He’s scared he’ll snap Nagito like a twig if he puts too much weight on him.

It’s probably an irrational fear, but considering Nagito wouldn’t even complain if he did isn’t exactly reassuring because he wouldn’t know if he was hurting the other.

The car shudders to a stop after about ten or so minutes, the couple in the front seats talking happily. One of them has a loud and booming voice while the other just laughs a lot. They’re so weird and free, compared to the poster-card lives presented to them at the camp.

He can’t help but feel that he was really right when the one with pink hair opens the door with a flourish, sticking his tongue out past filed teeth and grinning at them happily. He practically bounces into the little dingy bar - which is where they’re going, apparently.

Hinata stares at the sign in idle fascination, before it hits him. He turns to Nagito, a little furrow in his brow. “You didn’t tell me we were going to a gay bar.”

Nagito looks at him like he’s stupid. Well, in retrospect, maybe he is. 

“Hinata-kun, where did you think we were going? Everyone wants to get as far as possible from that place, right now.”

He has to agree that the little dimly lit bar is probably the exact opposite of the camp - colorful and loud and smelling strongly of liquor. Still, he doesn’t feel exactly comfortable. After all - if they were caught here of all places, they would surely be kicked out. 

He sighs and turns to Nagito, who to his dismay is already wading off into the crowd. Annoyance flickers in his chest as he jogs a little to catch up, feeling like the annoying little kid clinging onto someone’s arm. 

Nagito doesn’t look out of his element at all, which he realizes he probably should have guessed. He wasn’t exactly closeted, before being sent to this camp. While he’s lost in thought about this, staring up at the multicolored lights on the ceiling, he doesn’t notice Nagito get a little farther away. So he’s surprised when someone taps him on the shoulder. 

“Ah, sorry for startling you, dude. I just thought maybe you’d like to dance with me for a sec?” the guy grinned at him, hair slicked back and button down shirt open to reveal a barely appropriate amount of chest. He was holding out a hand.

Hinata blinked at him for a second, not realizing that he was the one being talked to in this situation.

“Oh. Uhm. Me?” He asked, nervously wiping his hands on his pants because he was sure they were sweating, before reaching out and taking the guy’s hand. “Sure, I guess.”

Nagito had said this was to loosen up and enjoy himself, right? Maybe dancing would help him feel more at ease. It was something he knew how to do, at least. And it might be rude to turn down the stranger, when he seemed like a nice enough guy.

He was actually doing pretty well, having danced with his partner for a whole song before the guy broke off to dance with someone else. It had managed to make him a little less nervous about this, because at least he had been respectful. Even so, the idea of just dancing with strangers was still stressful, so he decided to make his way over to the bar and just sit there for a minute until he could locate the people he came with.

He located Komaeda first, unsurprisingly, his white hair standing out even in neon light. He was pressed up closely to someone, swaying slightly before breaking away from them as the song ended. 

Hinata was not jealous.

He just had indigestion, or some shit. He almost regretted not being drunk for this, because why did his brain have to do this right now, of all times?

Nagito practically floated toward him, a small smile on his face as he wove his way through the other people still dancing as the next song came on. He sat down next to Hajime, resting his chin in his hands as he leaned his elbows on the counter. 

“Didn’t want to dance anymore?” Nagito asks gently, raising an eyebrow at him. He almost misses the concern in his gaze, but it’s there.

“Not a big fan of dancing with strangers. Although, the one guy was nice, I guess,” Hinata admits thoughtfully. He drums his fingers on the table. A little relief seems to pass over Nagito’s face, and Hinata really hopes he hadn’t just come over here to check on him. He would feel bad.

Fortunately for him, Nagito just smiles wider, and Hajime’s heart jumps. He can’t help but return the smile, because it’s just not fair that Nagito is that pretty under colored lights. 

“How do you feel about dancing with friends?” He asks, and outstretches a hand to Hinata as invitation. 

He’s sure Komaeda’s trying to kill him. 

There are definitely worse ways to die, he thinks absently, if that was his intention.

Either way, he takes his hand and lets himself be pulled to his feet, swaying with Nagito for a second. “You’re more used to leading, right?” Nagito asks, and if Hinata didn’t know better he would think that Komaeda’s face is a little flushed. 

“Yeah, thanks,” Hinata mutters, settling his hand delicately on Komaeda’s waist. Komaeda loops his arms around his shoulders gently, content to let Hinata struggle desperately to remember the dance lessons he used to have in gym class. 

At least with the stranger the song was more upbeat and they could just move to the beat rather than attempt recognizable dances.

He was fairly sure he didn’t know what the hell he was doing, but Komaeda really didn’t seem to mind much, pliant under his touch as he guided him in what he really hoped was an actual dance - as opposed to some godforsaken version of the hokey pokey.

He holds his breath as the song slows down significantly, Komaeda swaying with him. Had he always been this close? Hinata’s brain feels like putty.

Nagito blinks up at him, something open and oddly vulnerable in his eyes. It’s like he’s asking permission for something - something which Hinata’s rapidly decomposing brain can’t really comprehend right now. 

He feels breath ghost across his lips, warm and inviting, and realizes.

His eyes widen a little bit, and he must look as shaken as he feels because Komaeda jerks back, eyes searching his face for a second. Hinata wants to tell him to come back, but the words get stuck in his throat. Because maybe Komaeda had realized he didn’t really want to kiss him after all? Maybe it was Hinata who had misread the atmosphere?

Komeada mumbles several apologies so fast Hinata can barely understand what he’s saying, backing away like he’s scared of hurting him. Hinata freezes, brain processing the situation.

He unfreezes a second later, watching white hair duck out a door to the alley, something muttered about stupidity and selfishness.

He breathes. He had forgotten to, in the few seconds prior.

Komaeda had been about to… kiss him?

It’s not surprising, exactly, given the occasional teasing comments he would make. Given that, looking back, they weren’t actually so ‘occasional’.

Why had he stopped? It had to be something he saw on Hinata’s face, some bit of nerves or surprise that he misread for rejection. He couldn’t think of anything else.

Because of course Komaeda would take the slightest hesitation as outright disgust and rejection. That was just such a - such a Komaeda thing to do.

He realized he was still frozen like a dumbass, and squeezed his way through the crowd to the door, cold night air hitting his face as he stepped outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this wouldn't be a cliffhanger if i wasn't spam posting this entire fanfic


	8. What a Mess

Komaeda’s right by the door, leaning up against the wall next to a dumpster, and he’s hugging himself. His head jerks up to meet Hinata’s stare and he lets out a wheezy little laugh.

“Of course,” Nagito laughs, but his eyes don’t crinkle with the joy they normally do. They swirl with a kind of madness. Despair. 

“Of course you could never think about someone as worthless as me like that. I - I just,” he pauses, reaching up to wrap his arms around himself. He’s shaking, Hinata realizes, though he’s not sure if it’s from the chilly night air or the little breakdown he’s currently having. It’s almost painful, to see Nagito like this, so completely and utterly alone with his arms wrapped around himself. “I’m so sorry for pushing myself on you. I should know my place, but of course filth like me can’t even… can’t even maintain that.”

Hajime snaps out of the little trance he’s in for a second, brain whirling a million miles a minute and somehow going nowhere.

He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but Nagito looks too far away to even hear him. NO. He wants to yell, shaking the boy in front of him, CAN’T YOU SEE?

It wouldn’t do any good, Hajime realizes.

There’s too many emotional scars built up in the other boy to get through to him with yelling. He would take it as pity, or worse, as Hinata trying to fix him because he’s somehow broken.

Hinata was sick of needing to be fixed. He was sick of the dread in his stomach and sick of the hatred in his eyes every time he met them in the mirror. He was so, so sick of the way Nagito scratched at his skin, shrinking away from him like he was sparing Hinata some horrible fate.

As if he couldn’t think of anything worse Hinata might have to endure than him.

And maybe they both needed fixing. Maybe they were both a little broken. But every time he tried to glue the pieces together it felt like they shattered again, leaving him with broken shards and bloody fingers.

So he grabs Nagito Komaeda by the jacket again, pulling him close enough so that his eyes are meeting those pale green ones, searching for anything that he can grab onto because god, he’s drowning. He can feel his lungs filling with water. He can feel himself sinking down into those eyes, swirling pools of despair, limbs unsteady.

He’s not sure who he’s grabbing onto Nagito for, anymore.

Perhaps it was meant to be for the white haired boy, to yell at him, to shake some sense into him like he had that night by the camp fire. Perhaps it was for himself, because he needed something to hold onto.

Because Nagito had made him need something to hold onto. With his gentle smiles and words, the only genuine thing he had in so long.

No, it wasn’t fair to blame Nagito, he mused, squeezing his eyes shut against the sting because crying about it wasn’t going to fix it. It never did. It wasn’t Nagito’s fault his heat leapt into his throat every time he looked at him, and his face flushed whenever he smiled.

It wasn’t fair to let Nagito stand there, despairing eyes gazing into Hinata’s own, his face a mixture of fear and self loathing. This whole situation was his fault, he supposed, blankly recognizing that despite the good night they had been having everything had managed to go to hell as soon as he hesitated.

He was so sick of hesitating, so sick of fear.

His lips ghosted across Nagito’s, at first, and he was afraid that if he breathed one of them would shatter. The gray-green pools turned to a sort of desperation, and he could feel the taller boy melt into his touch a little, though his expression was more fear than comfort.

He was over it. He pulled Nagito closer, pressing their lips more firmly together. He knew he probably looked like a moron, desperate eyes staring at the boy above him who was looking back with a gaze just as searching.

It wasn’t how first kisses were supposed to be, he supposed absently, because their teeth clicked together and his lips were chapped and both of them had their eyes open. Not that it was his first kiss, but it was his first kiss with Nagito, at least. 

He broke away to breathe for a second, almost startled by the burn in his lungs. 

Nagito inhaled shakily, raising a hand to his own mouth and pressing his fingers gently against his lips, where Hinata’s had been moments before.

“Why?” It sounded so broken, so small, compared to the silence of the alley. “I thought…”

Hinata blinked, sure his breath was going to catch in his throat if he spoke again. He cleared it a few times, trying to form his thoughts from mush into semi-coherent sentences.

“I… don’t know,” he laughed, raking his hand through his hair absently. He needed something to keep him grounded. He noticed Nagito’s slim fingers were gripping his jacket in a similar fashion.

He sighed and sat down on one of the garbage bin’s lids, patting the space next to him. That would probably be better than standing and staring at each other in the dark alley. Probably.

Nagito sat next to him, brow furrowed in confusion. “If it was pity, then I assure you I'm not in need or want of it, Hinata-kun, though you’re very kind to worry for me like that.”

“Because I wanted to,” Hinata blurts out, breathlessly, hardly hearing Nagito’s self deprecating little rant. Because he’s realized there isn’t really a deep universal reason - there’s no difficult meaning behind it. There’s no dark secret, buried to be dug up. He had just managed to convince himself that there must be, rather than admit that at first.

It’s a little funny. In a sad kind of way. 

So he laughs, short and breathless, partly because of how pathetic he had to be to realize that just now and partly because it’s a really simple, really obvious reason.

And Nagito, the guy who admitted to being a camboy in front of a room full of people without the slightest sign of embarrassment or hesitation, fidgets and stares down at the garbage bin lid like it’s utterly obscene that Hinata would admit something like that. Like he’s embarrassed for Hinata’s sake. As if admitting such a thing was indecent. He can see his cheeks flushed red, even in the dim light.

And he’s looking at him, searching, staring at Hinata’s face like he’s trying desperately to find any hint of a lie or mask. Hinata knows the feeling well enough.

“Do you want to… do it again?” Nagito asks, and he’s so breathless it’s almost funny considering they haven’t been kissing in at least a few minutes and he’s certainly had enough time to catch it. Hinata’s heart beats a little faster, those gentle eyes meeting his own.

Nagito opens his mouth, as if he’s about to take it back, or give Hinata ten excuses not to, and Hinata decides that he’s over it. He doesn’t give him the chance, lips pressing firmly to Nagito’s as the other boy lets out a surprised little ‘mmph’ noise.

It’s only marginally better than the first kiss, but at least those pale white lashes flutter shut this time. Hajime would breathe a sigh of relief at the sign of relaxation, if his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied. 

He can tell neither of them really know what they’re doing, because Nagito takes a few seconds to even try to move his lips against Hinata’s, and Hinata’s sure he’s doing it all wrong despite having at least a little experience.

Even so, there’s something relieving about finally, finally getting there after so long denying and pushing and doubting. And the way Nagito practically melts in his hands does nothing to discourage him when he slips an arm around the other’s shoulder, fingers very tentatively carding through fluffy white hair.

It’s… really soft.

His lips, his hair, his jacket.

Nagito lets out a pleased little sigh and the part of Hinata’s brain that still has the presence of mind to be worried turns to mush.

He leans forward a little bit, banking on wrapping his other arm around Nagito’s back because he’s sure he’s freezing out here, and he wants to warm him up, and maybe pull him closer in the process just to make sure he can’t go and run away again.

And the dumpster lets out a crunch of protest. He pulls away, blinking.

Ah.

They were sitting on a plastic lid. Maybe they should-

Nagito’s eyes open in confusion, as if asking why the kiss had stopped, just as it gives way under them. A loud crack echoes through the alley.

He wishes he had a camera to capture the almost comically surprised look on Nagito’s face, even as he’s falling over sideways too.

His brain takes a second to comprehend that yeah, he really is in fact falling into a dumpster, because he had the brilliant idea of sitting down on the damn thing, before he lands with a crunch on something uncomfortably slimy.

He really doesn’t want to think too much about what it is, disgust rolling through him. Because what the actual fuck - had they really managed to pick the trashcan with a lid fragile enough to give out under them?

Nagito’s splayed out on his back, shock across his features, one leg still stretched comically out against the side of the garbage can. And he looks so ridiculous and this situation is so ridiculous he can’t even help the laugh that crawls out of his throat, no matter how hard he tries to suppress it. He bites his tongue desperately but it does nothing to stop the snort, and then trying not to laugh just makes him laugh harder.

Because, really, his life is already fucked up enough, why not fall into a garbage can while trying to make out with someone. He realizes his shoulders are shaking, and looks up through a haze at the still shocked expression on Nagito’s face. 

A little confused laugh bubbles out of Nagito’s throat, and he struggles for a moment to sit up, which just makes Hinata laugh even harder. 

The laughter peters off to a halt, and Nagito’s face falls a little. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, brushing a banana peel off of his knee.

Hinata’s eyebrows wrinkle. Because surely he hasn’t managed to make this into something to do with him - for fucks sake, he’s not the one who had wanted to sit on the damn garbage can. 

“It’s because of my awful luck that this happened, you know,” Nagito mumbles, an air of guilt around him. “And the fact that I completely freaked out earlier.”

“Oh my god, Nagito, no,” Hinata mutters, shifting a little closer to him and trying his best to not fall over into the trash again as he crouches. 

“No?”

“No! This is not your fault, dumbass, I’m the one who wanted to sit here. So just. Please. Shut up.”

Nagito doesn’t look convinced, sitting up properly now and clenching his fists around his hoodie, like he wants the fabric to rip. But he does shut up, at least, though he looks like he’s forming a long and complicated argument as to why it’s his fault.

Hinata doesn’t particularly want to hear such an argument, so he sighs again and reaches out to cup Nagito’s cheek.

“I would kiss you again, but you have dumpster juice on your face,” Hinata says affectionately, using the hood of Nagito’s jacket to wipe the little smear off his cheek. 

“Ah,” Nagito brings a hand up to cup his cheek where Hinata had wiped it a few moments before, and though the self deprecation is still there he thinks it’s dimmed a little. “That’s romantic.”

He snorts again, because he can’t really help it. And the way Nagito smiles up at him tentatively does nothing to discourage him from laughing.

It’s still disgusting, and he can’t help but shiver as they get back into the truck later that night. He sits down before Nagito gets the chance, this time, pulling the other close next to him and intertwining their fingers.

He wonders if Nagito will ever look less shocked about being on the receiving end of any genuine affection. 

The white haired boy blinks at him for a second, before letting out a contented little sigh and draping his head onto Hinata’s shoulder. He feels freezing to the touch, Hinata thinks, wrapping an arm around his shoulder absently as he loses himself in thought. 

He kind of stinks, he realizes absently, though it does nothing to stop him from resting his head on Nagito’s - fluffy white hair tickling his cheek. Which really shouldn’t be surprising, considering the two of them spent a good ten minutes trying to escape from a dumpster. 

He almost misses the way Nagito’s eyes flutter shut and he presses just a little more firmly into Hajime’s side - like he’s trying to make sure he’s still there. Like he’s trying to savor it.

Even the inevitable teasing about the garbage can incident that had started as soon as they got in the truck can’t wipe the smile off his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im not even going to lie this was so fun to write


	9. Confrontation

When he wakes up, it almost feels normal despite how tired he is. Almost. That shred of ‘normalcy’ shatters the second he walks into the breakfast area, because the hush is unusual and unnatural and almost unbearable.

A sense of dread settles in the pit of his stomach as he gets a bowl of cereal and sits down next to Nagito, giving him a questioning look. Nagito just raises a finger to his lips in a shushing motion and nods his head slightly toward where Sato is sitting at the head of the table. 

Just as he suspected, after everyone ate their breakfast in an unusual silence - apart from the few who looked genuinely confused - they were called together for another ‘group therapy’ session. 

Sato left the room, but Suzuki looked at them over her glasses with a honeyed smile that was far too sweet for the situation.

“There was some suspicious noise outside my room last night. I’m not stupid. If nobody comes forward, we will not be allowed to move on from our current therapy and will be forced to extend the program further - something i’m sure your parents would not be happy to hear about.”

There’s a collective silence. Nobody hardly dares to breathe for a moment. Hajime stares directly at the collar of her shirt, not wanting to seem as suspicious as Mikan is currently being by playing with her skirt and shifting anxiously every few seconds.

Suzuki’s gaze zeroes in on her.

“Mikan, if you have something to say, now would be a good time to do so.”

It’s cold, and plain, and threatening. Mikan twists her fists into her skirt harder and tears spring to her eyes, shaking her head rapidly. Hajime can’t help the twinge of pity he feels for her - she seemed anxious to sneak out in the first place.

“In fact, I found something very incriminating in your room this morning,” she smirks, pulling a tiny pride flag out of her back pocket with a flourish.

Hajime recognizes it immediately, eyes widening - he was fairly sure they had been using them at the bar - the kind of decorative thing you put in fancy drinks. But, really? Mikan had taken it back with her?

Then again, she seemed like the type of person absent-minded and clumsy enough to do something like that without really thinking about it. Especially if she had actually had any of what was in that drink.

“It was under your bed. The cleaners came by this morning while everyone was having breakfast.”

Mikan’s eyes are almost comically round with fear, tears forming in their corners and threatening to run down. Her lip wobbles. Hajime looks away from her, not wanting to see her break down - not wanting to see Suzuki tear her apart verbally in front of everyone. Or worse. Throw her out. 

Most people are avoiding her gaze, he notices, as he tries to find a way to distance himself from the scene happening in front of him. Even Ibuki, sitting next to her, staring with her eyebrows furrowed like she’s trying desperately to form her thoughts.

And then Ibuki seems to come out of whatever sort of trance she’d been in before, meeting Suzuki’s gaze in a confident and challenging way. 

It’s not as cocky as she usually is - there’s a subdued sadness there somewhere. A resignation.

“It was me. I snuck out last night. That’s my flag. I told Mikan not to say anything or i’d say she went with me - but it’s not true. I went by myself.”

He holds his breath, watching the expressions on both Mikan’s and Suzuki’s faces morph into surprise and, respectively, panic and rage. 

Suzuki’s talking now, dead calm, something about hell and punishment and fire.

Hajime blinks stupidly. He hadn’t even thought of that - hadn’t thought of the fact that they were roommates. He wonders if he would have done the same thing, if he and Nagito had been in the same situation. He really doesn’t think so, and it makes the pit of his stomach drop. Because it all feels so wrong.

There isn’t really anything that they are. He doubts somehow that there’s anything that they ever could be - there are too many things in the way. Too many parts of life pulling them in different directions. 

He desperately wants to think of Nagito as someone he would sacrifice his own reputation and chance at normal life for. Cares about him. But at the same time - he has nowhere to go if he’s thrown out. His loyalty to his parents pulls his heart in two directions painfully.

It hurts that it’s being thrown in his face.

Because last night was so good, in it’s own disastrous, insane way. It wasn’t anything he could put into words, really, but it felt… right.

Nagito wasn’t perfect. 

Nagito was perhaps the farthest person from perfect he had ever met. So perfect wasn’t the way to describe anything about this - about them. 

It probably should have been more obvious to him that whatever they were wouldn’t last, from the very start. He wonders if Nagito realized it sooner - realized it easier. 

And even though he’s sitting right across from the white-haired boy, he misses him already. Because he’s not stupid. Because whatever the hell they are - it won’t last. 

It… hurts.

In a way that it probably shouldn’t. The entire past few weeks have been a blur of insanity and hatred and difficulty. That in itself isn’t the hard part. It never is, really. It’s the fact that he’s had a taste of something real for the first time in so long. He doesn’t want to forget how Nagito’s eyes crinkle when he smiles, or those dimples. 

…

Ibuki is expelled, that day, after her family is called in and the situation is explained. She takes it relatively well - in fact, she’s the one who smiles at Mikan and points to her cheeks, in an obvious attempt to get her to cheer up, on her way out the door.

Hajime’s not sure what he expected, but being expelled is actually a relatively uneventful thing. 

She leaves the same day, only because her family informs her she’s not welcome home anymore. It’s painfully unsurprising - this camp is a last ditch effort by many parents. 

He wonders where she goes after that. Perhaps to a shelter or to try to make money for herself on the streets with her music. It’s hard not to wonder and hard not to worry, and even Nagito is more subdued than his usual self when they finally retreat to their room that night after studying.

They don’t say much.

Nagito squeezes his hand once and gives him a small smile, then goes to lay down on his bunk bed, back turned away from Hinata and a blanket pulled over his hunched form.

He can’t help but wonder if he’s intentionally pushing him away, pretending to sleep so that they don’t need to talk about whatever they are. So they don’t need to talk about the fact that they won’t last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no beta we die like men i didn't even reread this i'm so tired anyway have another short chapter uwu


	10. Ahaha, noo, don't kill yourself, your soooo sexy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The longest chapter of this thing is fucking . porn. You have been warned.

“You’re… really cold. Like, a lot.”

Hinata slips his hand around Komaeda’s waist, pulling him closer as if that will fix the problem. Komaeda doesn’t seem to really mind, humming and snuggling a little closer. He pulls the cover into the book he’s reading to save his place and sets it aside. 

“You should probably eat more.”

Hinata wonders at what point he started to sound like a concerned mother, but he can’t bring himself to mind. Because the little intake of breath Komaeda gives at that would be cute if it weren’t for the meaning behind it. As if he’s surprised every time Hinata reminds him he cares.

He looks up and finds pale green eyes blinking back down at him, and he smiles a little bit. It’s so nice, to be close with someone, to be able to hear Komaeda’s heartbeat when he presses into him enough - to make sure he’s still there. Because really this all feels like some long, over-complicated fever dream.

“Yeah, I guess,” Nagito concedes, as if it wasn’t something he really thought about much. It kind of hurts how unsurprising that is. “I’m sorry if my appearance is too disturbing or revolting to look at, Hinata-kun. I fully understand if you’re disgusted.”

Hinata sits up and blinks at him. It’s kind of jarring, how often he’s lulled into complacency and comfort before Komaeda does something or says something like that. He sighs deeply, already missing the moment they were having a few seconds ago, and rakes his hand through his hair. 

It was so easy to forget how fucked up the both of them were.

“... i’ve said something wrong,” Komaeda observes, and his head tilts to the side. White strands of hair fall across his eyes, and he brushes them back impatiently. His eyes widen in surprise, and for a second Hajime almost thinks he gets it. “Ah! I’m sorry if you think I was putting words into your mouth. Of course, you’re far too kind to ever admit those kinds of things to me. I wasn’t trying to insinuate anything unpleasant about your thoughts, I assure you. It’s a perfectly normal reaction.”

No, Hinata thinks absently as he wonders how he’s supposed to respond to that, It’s really not a perfectly normal response.

“You’re just…” he trails off, and sighs again. Komaeda doesn’t look any less confused, and his sentence isn’t going anywhere really, so he presses his lips to Komaeda’s gently. “I don’t know. Nevermind.”

It’s much softer and gentler than the first few times they’d done it, still a little messy and uncoordinated. But it doesn’t really matter much, because Komaeda is practically melting into his touch, pale eyelashes fluttering a little when Hinata nips at his lower lip.

He regrets not having this method of shutting Komaeda up before - because it’s really effective. He’s a lot less painful to deal with when all he is is thin, soft lips and gentle touches. 

It’s kind of funny how lost Komaeda looks when he pulls away, leaning forward for a second before coming to his senses. His cheeks are a pretty shade of pink - a nice contrast from how sallow they normally are. 

“You’re really pretty,” Hinata breathes. The words slip out before he can stop them, and he realizes his face must be a matching shade of red. Because fuck, he had just admitted that freely and now he was going to have to argue with Komaeda over it again. 

Nagito makes a strange little noise in the back of his throat, and leans into the bedpost more. “... Although I disagree with you, your kindness is as radiant as ever, Hinata-kun. And I feel so extraordinarily lucky to be on the receiving end of it.”

“No, like.” Hinata furrows his eyebrows, reaching out to cup Nagito’s cheek with one of his hands. Nagito leans into his touch. “I mean it. I know you think I don’t, but…”

He sighs once again, starting to feel like a deflating balloon. Because he already sucks at putting his thoughts into words, and there’s a certain white haired boy in front of him who’s short circuiting them even more. He’s already screwed, he has been since he got here, maybe. “I like when you blush, or when you smile. It makes you seem a little softer - and I do wish you’d eat more, but only because I worry about you. You’re actually… one of the best looking people here.”

Hinata feels a blush crawl up his own neck, not used to admitting things like that to anyone, let alone his odd roommate with the hope fetish. It feels wrong to admit things like this to anyone, but the way Komaeda gazes at him like he’s holding the sun in his hands and bites his lip a little does nothing to discourage him.

“You’re absolutely gorgeous, and I know you don’t see it and I know you can’t help it, but it’s. Actually kind of obvious, to me? And, you know, when you look at me with your eyes half-lidded, or when you smirk, or when you … uh… bite your lip like that. You’re really… hot?”

Hinata puts his own head in his hands, wishing he could take it back not because he didn’t mean it but because it’s downright embarrassing to say things like that. Especially with the awkward phrasing. Because wow, yeah, he had really called Komaeda Nagito ‘hot’ to his face. How had he gotten here, again?

He looks up after a few seconds, figuring he can’t hide from the real world forever, and realizes with a start that Nagito’s still sitting there with that mildly stunned look on his face.

He waves his hand in front of his face a few times, wondering briefly if Nagito had dissociated as a defense mechanism against hearing compliments. It would have been a little bit ridiculous of a thought, if it wasn’t entirely plausible. 

Those eyes meet his own and - wow - he’s pretty sure they weren’t always that dark. When they were swirling with despair in the alley, it was much different from how they look now.

He lets out a surprised laugh, leaning closer to Nagito’s face even as he quirks an eyebrow. “Nagito, are you…? Are your pupils dilated?”

He’s sure they are, he thinks. Nagito blinks rapidly several times, jerking back as he seems to come back down to earth. He pulls his knees up to his chest quickly, and Hinata almost falls over backwards from the sudden movement.

Now Nagito is the one letting out a breathless laugh, hugging his knees like they’re his last wall of defense.

“I’m sorry, Hinata-kun. To think your praise would only subject you to seeing me like this - hah - it’s truly unfortunate, indeed.”

“Seeing you like th -” Hinata’s brain breaks a little as he realizes the reason Nagito’s eyes are so blown, as well as the reason he’d pulled his knees up to his chest so quickly. “Oh.”

Because oh. Wow. Really? He’d caused that? With just a little praise?

He feels a little bit of intrigue swirl in his brain, and he leans a bit closer. As if he’s making sure he didn’t just misread the situation. Because, really, considering how fucked up everything already is it’s entirely plausible. 

Nagito gives a sharp intake of breath.

“I’m really sorry. You must be disgusted.”

It sounds sincere enough, but all Hajime can do is swallow thickly. Because disgust is definitely not what he would call the emotion swirling around in his brain, but he doubts he has the mental capacity to put that into words right now.

“You’re…?” Hajime makes a gesture that’s intended to be prompting, but probably comes off more obscene because of how wide-eyed he is. “Because of me?”

Nagito just stares at him.

And yeah, that was a really stupid question. Because, really, who else? Unless there’s a ridiculously hot ghost sharing the room with them that Hajime just isn’t aware of. It probably wouldn’t be the weirdest thing that had ever happened to him, he considers objectively, if that were the case. 

“Oh.” He repeats. He feels stupid yet again, because Nagito is right there and he’s right here and there’s not that much space between them, anyway, so what the hell is he doing rambling like a moron.

“Hinata-kun,” Nagito begins, and he thinks that maybe it’s supposed to be the start of something important, but then he doesn’t really think much at all because he’s pressing his lips to Nagito’s firmly. He breaks away after a second, because he realizes in retrospect this is probably something they should talk about. And, maybe Nagito hadn’t been about to go on a self-depricating rant, for once.

Nagito just stares up at him, and he feels a little frustrated. His heart’s pounding in his ears and he has two hands on Nagito’s shoulders and he’s actually giving him space to talk, for once, but now all he wants to do is stare at him?

“Uh, what?” Hinata asks, because he realizes this might drag on longer than is emotionally bearable if he doesn’t ask.

“You’re not… grossed out?” Nagito develops a little wrinkle, in between his eyebrows, and he looks so helplessly confused. 

“Um. Hah. N- no.” Hinata mutters, eloquently as always. Because, really, isn’t the tent in his pants doing enough speaking for how not-disgusted he is right now? He thinks he’d probably die on the spot if he used that as evidence, though, so he just settles for placing a chaste kiss on the corner of Nagito’s mouth. He watches his throat bob as he swallows. 

“Can I…?”

The question hangs in the air for a moment, because he’s not sure what he’s asking. He doesn’t know how to say it directly. Doesn’t know enough to say it directly, even if he could form the words. Nagito doesn’t look any less confused and lost than he feels, but he leans into his touch a little bit, at least.

“You can do anything,” he breathes gently. Hajime’s not sure he likes the boundaries (or lack thereof) being drawn here, but he just squeezes Nagito’s shoulders a little tighter. “Please don’t feel obligated to do anything, though, i’m perfectly satisfied with Hinata-kun’s presence the way it is now, of course.”

“Well. Okay, I guess, but if I… but if I do anything you don’t like you have to tell me.”

Nagito breathes a little laugh against his lips, mumbling quietly. “That would be very hard.”

A part of Hajime regrets this - whatever this is, as his hands creep farther down Nagito’s back. But only because he has no idea what the fuck he’s doing, and he has the prettiest boy he’s ever met kissing him, and he wants whatever he does to feel good, and he’s not even being given any standards to work with here. Nagito sinks against him with a little sigh that shouldn’t be cute, given the situation, but really is. 

It slows the racing of his mind down a little, and he nips at Nagito’s lower lip again because he had seemed to like that the first time. He figures, even if he hasn’t the slightest idea what he’s currently up to, he can at least mimic what he’s seen before. Maybe he won’t entirely suck, if he pays attention to the little noises Nagito makes.

He pauses for a moment to smooth his hands up the front of Nagito’s torso, feeling a little relieved when Nagito relaxes the fetal position and opens up for him. It’s kind of embarrassing that he doesn’t have the focus to kiss Nagito while doing other… things, but he supposes it should be the least of his worries right now.

He pauses again, hands hovering over where he wants to test something out on Nagito, blinking at him for a moment before he remembers that Nagito had in fact said he could do anything he wanted to. 

It does little to prepare him for the breathy whimper Nagito lets out when he pinches a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling the bud experimentally. He arches into Hinata’s touch, as if it’s magnetic, biting his lip a little to stifle any more sounds from slipping out.

Oh. So that works. 

His hand moves away from Nagito’s chest for a moment and he tugs gently on his shirt, hoping that gets the point across well enough because he’s having a really hard time forming coherent thoughts.

Nagito looks up at him with those half-lidded eyes again as he peels it off, and Hinata can’t help the twinge of arousal that shoots through his body. Because woah - they’re really, actually doing this. Whatever this is.

And then Nagito sets his shirt down, and Hinata can’t help his gaze for a moment. Because Nagito really is painfully thin, and his skin looks like it’s stretched over bone with not much in between. It’s not the only thing he notices about him, though - there’s also a pretty flush traveling up his neck, and he’s layed out without the slightest hint of hesitation.

The amount of trust in his eyes is, ironically, the thing that makes Hinata’s hands shake as he palms him through his pajama pants. Nagito lets out a muffled little noise at the contact, and Hinata looks up only to realize that he’s biting his lip again. Fuck. 

“You’re so pretty, spread out under me like this,” he breathes. He wants to slap a hand over his own mouth, but he doesn’t think he has the state of mind to because of the way Nagito looks up at him with his eyes blown and his lips red from being bitten.

“Can I…?” His hand hovers over a pointy hip bone as he shifts to make himself more comfortable between Nagito’s legs, because he can’t help the urge to affirm it in his own mind. 

Nagito’s making a really indecent expression, when he blinks up at him and presses his hips into Hinata’s hand. “Please.”

“Okay.” He smooths his other hand up to rest on Nagito’s hip as well, hooking his fingers under elastic and fabric. Because he can’t really think to say anything else, when he tugs it down.

Nagito arches himself up off the bed to help him get his pants and underwear free, and it’s just the right amount of obscene. 

And that’s it - because there’s nowhere else to go now, except -

“Hinata-kun, I fully understand if you’re having second thoughts. I would never want to pressure you into anything you - you didn’t want to do. Or that you weren’t ready for. Or - or anything like that.”

Despite his words, Nagito’s eyes are practically pleading, and he bites his lip as if to stop himself from asking for anything else.

“No. I - I want to. I just don’t - I have no idea what I’m doing, Nagito.” He almost laughs, because it’s a little late for that now. 

Nagito, on the other hand, looks a little unconvinced.

“I’m really much easier to please than you seem to think I am, you know. I meant it when I said that a-anything would be f - fine. Hinata. Kun.”

The end of his little rant had trailed off because Hinata had let his embarrassment and shame and confusion fall away in light of the genuine fascination he felt. He trailed a feather-light touch up one of the more prominent veins on Nagito’s cock, noting with idle fascination the way it twitched under his hand. The way Nagito stammered through the rest of his thought.

He wasn’t really big, but it didn’t really matter. He was slender and, for lack of a better word, pretty. He was already leaking slightly, which was kind of ridiculous considering he had barely been touched. The praise must have gotten to him far more than Hinata originally thought. Or maybe it was the situation in general? 

Hinata didn’t really have a place to judge him. He was painfully hard in his own boxers, sure he was making just as much of a mess out of them. 

Nagito’s leg jerked when Hinata sat back, sinking down and placing a chaste kiss on the place his hip met his thigh. It felt kind of filthy, if not in the literal sense at least in the obscene sense. 

Nagito’s whole body shivered as he dragged his teeth gently against the pale skin, nipping gently before sucking on the irritated area. There was something undeniably appealing about marking up his skin, and he wasn’t far-gone enough to realize that marking up Nagito’s neck would be the equivalent of a death sentence for both of them. 

Despite that, he didn’t think he minded the change of place terribly, but he frowned and sat up a little. Of course - marking up Nagito’s thighs wasn’t really going to affect him negatively in any way, but it felt better to ask.

“Is it alright if -” this time Hajime was shut up by having lips pressed against his own, Nagito gently nipping at his bottom lip. He let out a startled noise as his lips parted and their tongues slicked together, the contact surprising but not unwelcome. What had he been about to ask, again?

Nagito broke away from the kiss, saliva still slick on his lips. He brought an arm up to wipe it away, panting a little. “Please.”

He was sure he had never been this turned on in his life, as his teeth sunk into Komaeda’s thigh gently. The noises he made were quiet and breathy, but absolutely sinful. Right - they probably had to be relatively quiet, considering the room they were staying in. 

He noticed how dark Komaeda’s eyes were as he stared down at him with something akin to desperation in his eyes. His cock was resting against his stomach, flushed and leaking.

Hinata hadn’t the slightest idea what the fuck he was doing, but Komaeda looked so good he wanted to taste him.

He almost repressed the obscene thought, before acknowledging that this was actually the perfect time to be having obscene thoughts.

He wrapped the fingers of his hand around Komaeda, noting how the way he squeezed wrung a bead of precum from his head. Without really thinking about it, he leaned down and lapped Komaeda’s head - cleaning the bead off. 

Huh. It was… salty. Not necessarily in a bad way.

He wrapped his lips around Komaeda’s soft tip, trying his best to not be messy about it, as he bobbed clumsily. 

Komaeda’s mouth fell open in a full-on moan, before he slapped a hand over his mouth to contain it. “H-Hinata-kun, you don’t have to dothat.”

He pulled back, trying not to flinch at the obscene slurp, and wiped his mouth off. “Sorry. I probably should have asked.”

Komaeda’s eyes widen slightly, and he’s afraid he’s offended him somehow. “No! Nonono, you,” he cups Hinata’s face in his hands, eyes searching as he leans forward. “You’re - you’re perfect. You’re so good. I just thought…”

The thought doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, because Komaeda is trailing off again, chewing on his lip.

“Do you want to maybe do something else?” Hinata asks, drumming his fingers against his own thigh, because he really doesn’t want to sit here all night with the problem in his pants.

“Ah.” Komaeda blinks, as if having realized something, and his gaze flickers down to Hinata’s own ‘problem’. It’s a little embarrassing and uncomfortable, being stared at like that, and he resists the urge to squirm or pull his knees up to his chest.

“It would be rather sad if I was the one having all the fun, Hinata-kun.”

Komaeda slinks closer to him, and his breath catches in his throat. He realizes he’s horribly, entirely too clothed for this. He’s not quite ashamed enough to resist the thought that his pants are far too constricting right now. Because everything in his body is telling him to get the fuck out of them, you dumbass. 

Komaeda’s mouth is practically watering by the time he’s stripped his own shirt and pants off, unceremoniously tossing them off to the side. They could have ended up on the other side of the country, for all he cared. He hesitates again at his underwear, but Komaeda’s looking at him like he wants to eat him, and who is he to say no to that?

He almost regrets the lack of hesitation, however, because the gaze is almost palpable. He can feel his cheeks flushing and resists the urge to cover himself with his hands again, half to protect whatever semblance of his dignity might still be intact and half just wanting to deny Komaeda the view.

He kisses Komaeda again, and it’s desperate for both that reason and because Komaeda’s a lot less hesitant now that he seems to have whatever ‘proof’ he seemed to need that yeah, shockingly, Hinata’s actually enjoying this. 

He absently considers rolling his eyes, but thinks about how he’s literally between Komaeda’s legs and figures that would be sucky timing.

Komeada lets out a little rumbling huff when he thumbs over his nipple again, having remembered the reaction he got the first time he did that. This time, however, he doesn’t seem content to sit there and let Hinata turn him into putty in his hands, because he gently loops his legs around Hinata’s back and pulls him closer. 

And then Hinata’s biting back on his own sounds, breaking away fom the kiss, because Komaeda’s rolling his fucking hips against him, and the friction is almost too good on his neglected cock. Hinata sits up a little taller, practically dragging Nagito into his lap, reveling in the gasp it pulls from Nagito’s lips. 

Nagito’s hands rest gently on his shoulders, giving him some support as he bites his lip and rolls his hips again. Hinata pants against his neck.

Part of him regrets their height difference, because Nagito’s a lot taller when he’s sitting on his lap. Not that, objectively, he minds, but because it was a little flattering to watch him fall apart below him.

Slender fingers wrap around both of them, and he sinks his teeth into Nagito’s shoulder to stop the obscene noise that wants to bubble out of his throat. The friction is so good after waiting for so long, and the fact that it’s Nagito’s hand around them, and Nagito’s cock pressed against his, and Nagito’s shoulder he’s currently sinking his teeth into probably a little too hard just makes it all the better. 

He flicks his tongue against the abused skin apologetically, wondering if he’d bit down hard enough to leave a mark. Nagito does the opposite of complain, something akin to a purr rumbling in his chest as Hajime mouths over that spot again. 

The rhythm is almost too slow, but Nagito picks up the pace quickly, twisting and squeezing as he sinks into a delirious rhythm. He’s breathing even harder than Hajime is, and little noises keep slipping out of his mouth every time he twists his hand a little. 

He tucks his head down against Hajime’s shoulder, hair tickling his neck as hot breath fans out across his chest. Hajime realizes he’s watching them. It’s kind of obscene, and would be embarrassing if he had the state of mind to do anything but feel, right now.

He sinks his teeth into Nagito’s shoulder again, in a different spot this time - one that he’s fairly sure can be hidden by his shirt, and gasps as Nagito rewards him by thumbing over his head. 

He can’t help the way his hands wrap around Nagito’s slim waist, tugging him a little closer. His toes are curling from the heat and pressure of Nagito’s hand around them, and he knows he’s close to the edge - knows he’s a few seconds at best from tipping over it and making an absolute mess of Nagito’s sheets.

Well, Nagito in general, probably, considering he’s on his lap.

“You’re so good. You’re so-” his voice breaks as Nagito moans, tugging on them just a little more desperately. He doesn’t think he minds, because he’s not sure what he was going to say, anyway. 

He reaches up, thumbing over Nagito’s nipples with both hands now.

An obscene little noise slips out of his mouth as he feels a shudder ripple through his entire body, hips jerking forward into Nagito’s touch. He wants to hold on - wants to last a little longer than he is right now - but he can’t help the way his mind blanks when Nagito’s thumb swipes across his head again.

It almost takes him by surprise when his vision flashes white, sinking his teeth into Nagito’s shoulder again to muffle the noises his body wants to make. He pants with it, shivering as he feels Nagito speed up, hovering there for a few blissful seconds before overstimulation takes over.

He must whine or something, he realizes distantly, because Nagito’s fingers slow and then stop. As he comes back down to earth, he can’t help the way his gaze travels down Nagito’s chest to the place where he’s still painfully hard, Hajime’s cum streaked across the flat of his stomach as well as almost on his chest.

He curiously runs his fingers down Nagito’s stomach, noting the way the cum smears there. A small part of him has a presence to be disgusted, but he’s mostly just wrecked. He thinks, if he wasn’t completely exhausted, the sight of it alone would be enough to make him hard again.

“Hinata-kun?”

It sounds like a question, though he’s pretty sure it isn’t supposed to be one.

Nagito’s biting his lip again, dark eyes staring into his own. Although his limbs feel generally like they’re being weighed down by static, he still has the presence of mind to recognize that Nagito’s still…

“Do you mind if I… ah… finish?” Nagito asks, gently, though Hajime doesn’t miss the way his thighs shake a little as he gets up to sit back down on the bed and give him a little space.

Guilt floods his brain for a second, because just staring at Nagito certainly isn’t helping him, and he’s sure he had been close too before Hajime made a mess of him.

“Can I… touch you?” Hajime asks, not only because he wants to return the favor but also because he can’t help the curious, needy part of himself that wants to see just how Nagito would react to him doing that. 

“Of course,” Nagito responds, and it’s really not fair how he’s gone half-lidded again, spreading his thighs invitingly. 

Hajime reaches his hands out, a little hesitant as he pulls Nagito back into his lap. It’s not going to be very comfortable for either of them any other way, though, unless Hinata gets on his knees. Which he’s not exactly opposed to, it’s just that it would be awkward to reconsider his impulse move of pulling Nagito onto his lap again.

Nagito tucks his head over Hajime’s shoulder, bracing his arms around him. He can feel his arms shift as Nagito brings a hand up to his mouth, and Hinata’s flattered if a bit intimidated that he thinks he’ll need it. He doesn’t really think he’ll be that good, but at the very least he can imitate what he does to himself. 

Nagito’s arms tighten as he wraps his fingers around him, grateful that he doesn’t have to worry too much about hurting him because he’s already slick with precum and the little bit of saliva Hinata had left behind earlier. He experimentally strokes him, alternating between light and heavy touches and trying to figure out what makes Nagito arch into his touch the hardest. 

“Hinata, ple-ease,” is the little breathy whine as he slows down again, trying to find a rhythm. Nagito’s breath catches in his throat as he squeezes him, hard, noting with idle fascination the way he trembles as he slows down painfully on the drag down. 

“Sorry. I’m just -” Hinata doesn’t finish the thought, because it’s not really going anywhere, anyway. And he isn’t really that sorry, actually, because the way Nagito whines against his hand is pathetic in a good way, and he can’t help but tease. 

There’s only so much he can take, though, because the way Nagito melts against him when he actually does sink into a rhythm is really good too. The way he’s pliant under Hinata’s other hand, even as he bites his own hand around the desperate little noises falling from his lips. 

It isn’t long before Nagito’s breath hitches and he moans almost pathetically, voice breaking into a shivery gasp as his thighs shake on either side of Hinata’s. Hinata squeezes him a little harder, reveling in the way that fingernails sink into his back and scratch desperately at him as Nagito goes to pieces.

He can’t help but push Komaeda past the point of overstimulation for a moment, fascination taking over. Komeada’s eyes are watering, he realizes absently, lips swollen and puffy from the amount he’s bit them. His back stings a little with the way Komaeda rakes his nails across it, but it’s strangely gratifying. 

He slows down and lets go, figuring it would be cruel to push Komaeda too far. His hand is sticky, and he almost reflexively wipes it on the sheets before he remembers that they don’t have an easy change of laundry nearby. 

Nagito slumps against him again, the warmth radiating off of his body a nice change from how freezing cold he normally is, and Hinata wraps his clean hand around him and pulls him closer. 

He cards his clean fingers through Nagito’s hair gently, careful not to pull too hard on any of the mess. It’s weirdly calm, and nice, and peaceful, because the way Nagito clings to him and just breathes is comforting. He could almost forget about his other hand being sticky, for a moment, except that Nagito winces and gently pries himself out of Hinata’s hands. 

He stands up, stumbling slightly as he almost trips over one of the loose floorboards, and smiles tiredly at him.

“...I… ah. I kind of made a mess of you, Hinata-kun.” Nagito mutters, gaze traveling down his stomach. He doesn’t have the presence of mind to be embarrassed by that anymore, following Nagito’s gaze and realizing that yeah, he should probably. Wipe his stomach off or something.

“Yeah,” he agrees, because there’s not really any way around it. He laughs a little. “I kind of made a mess of you too, though. We should probably. Shower, or something.”

“Ah! You’re right, of course. You can go first, Hinata-kun.”

Hinata blinks at him. He’s sure it’s just Nagito being polite, because he knows firsthand how much he dislikes being dirty.

“Your dick was like, literally in my hand,” he mutters, and Nagito stares at him blankly. “I mean - shit. That’s not. I wasn’t saying that out of regret. I’m just saying, sharing a shower would probably be the least inappropriate thing that’s happened tonight.”

Nagito seems to consider this for a second, and shrugs. “I mean, you’re not… wrong. So, sure.”


	11. The Shortest Chapter!

Hajime doesn’t think much of it when he’s called into the counselor's office, at first. It’s kind of routine at this point - they have little weekly check ins. 

The morning had been fairly uneventful, from waking up to eating breakfast to going to help the groundskeeper cut grass and trim the trees out in the front yard. It wasn’t unpleasant, and at least it had a purpose. 

Nagito seemed to really like sitting out under the shade of the trees.

He had mentioned wanting a garden, someday, during one of their late night chats. Something about how he would have one if he didn’t have horrible luck with plants. 

So he’s actually cheerful, for once.

He even gives Suzuki a little smile as he sits down across from her, ignoring the half-grimace she gives him in return.

“I’m not stupid, Hinata,” she practically growls at him. He furrows his eyebrows, because he'd kind of like to disagree with that if it wouldn’t get him in trouble.

“Uh… okay?” he says instead, and the confusion on his face must be apparent. 

“There are people at this camp who are actually trying to change, you know,” she tells him, leaning forward on her elbows. Her smile stretches far enough to look painful. “It’s thanks to them that we know exactly what goes on behind closed doors.”

His heart drops into his stomach.

Oh. That.

Had someone ratted them out to her? But how? It wasn’t like they had been that loud.

“You broke the rules. You’re gone. Your parents don’t want you back, so you can pack your bags and get out right away.”

His head swims as it goes through a 360, world flipping upside down. 

What?

And he had just been happy. Not five minutes ago. He’s sure he’s going to throw up.

He’s sure he’s going to cry, or laugh, or scream.

He stands up and leaves the room quietly.

Nagito’s standing outside the door, leaning against the door casually. He blinks at Hajime and gives him a small smile when he sees him, which drops as soon as he stares blankly back at him.

He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but then the door is opening again and Suzuki is gesturing at Nagito to come inside and sit down.

He tears his eyes away from the door after a few seconds, shaking his head as he walks down the hallway.

Part of him wants to be angry - thinks he should be angry. But it’s mostly exhaustion, like all the air had been sucked out of his lungs.

Despair.

He gets his bag. It’s already packed. Graduation isn’t that far away, after all. A graduation he’ll never get to see. A family he’ll never get to go back to.

He’s not sure what makes him pause outside the head counselors office on his way out, because he should really get going. Get out. Find a hotel or a shelter to stay in for the night. But he does.

Nagito will get kicked out too.

He wonders where they’ll go.

Maybe it won’t be so bad, if he’s with him. 

But then the door opens again and Nagito shoots him a look that’s apologetic. That’s understanding. And walks back toward the rooms.

He blinks stupidly.

“What are you waiting around here for,” Suzuki snaps, stuffing a handfull of change into her pocket quickly and smoothing out her shirt. She must have expected Nagito to close the door after him.

Everything clicks.

His eyes sting.

That - that asshole. He had bribed the head counselor to get to stay. And now - he was on his own.

There was nobody here.

Nobody.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is already repetitive as fuck and poorly written as fuck i'm not gonna make it longer


	12. We out here

He knocks on the door, shifting slightly on his feet. Hesitation makes him shiver. 

There’s no response for a few seconds, and Hajime genuinely considers just leaving. But, then again, this was the address provided on the little crumpled paper.

The man who helped sneak them out that crazy night cracks the door open, eyes tired and bleary as he blinks up at Hinata. He notices that both of his eyes are gray and tired, and his ‘scar’ is gone. 

His hair looks an absolute mess, no care put into styling it like it must have had that day. Guilt churns in his stomach - he must have been sleeping. Despite it being 4 in the afternoon. He seemed like the type to be totally nocturnal, anyway, so he supposed it made some sort of sense.

“Ah. You’re from the camp.” he recognizes, voice scratchy - and yeah, he was almost definitely sleeping before this.

“Uh. Not… not anymore.” Hinata laughs breathlessly, scratching his head and looking down at the pavement.

He doesn’t think he can bear to look him in the eyes after the little demonstration they were all made to do. 

He takes a deep breath. “I don’t know where to go… I… could you point me in the direction of a shelter, or something?”

Gundham, surprisingly, looks at him with a raised eyebrow and opens the door. He blinks. 

“Come on in. You can stay here, until you get back on your feet. It’s not unusual. Just don’t make a mess or cause trouble and you should be fine. There’s a sofa upstairs you’ll be able to sleep on.”

“Really?” he asks, his hesitation at taking the offer from a relative stranger being overridden by absolute relief. 

“Of course. I was in your position years ago, you know.”

“Oh… of course,” he nods, looking around. The house isn’t big. It would be apartment size if it wasn’t just a tiny two-story dump. There are random parts and tools scattered across all of the countertops as well as a hamster that sits up as soon as he walks in and runs behind a vase on the counter. 

Huh… weird.

He catches a glimpse of brightly colored hair out of the corner of his eyes, and is immediately caught in a hug far too tight for comfort. The girl the hair belongs to bounces back on the balls of her feet, releasing him and holding him at arms length.

“Hinata! You made it out!!” 

“Ibuku…?” he asks, because there’s no way she came to the same place - and yet… where else would she have gone?

“Hell yeah the name’s Ibuki! I-buki-mio-da!! What’s your deal? Why’d the witch kick you out?”

She’s really loud, he notices, leaning away and feeling a little overwhelmed. “Uh. That’s… Well. I broke the rules.”

She doesn’t need to know the specifics.

Her eyes widen knowingly, and she claps him on the back, hard. “You finally got some dick, huh? Was it Nagito? I bet it was. You should have seen yourself look at him.”

“I wasn’t - that’s not - I don’t-” he stammers for a moment, struggling between gathering his thoughts well enough to retort and trying to keep her at arms length. What was it with people around him having no respect for personal space? He sighs, rolling his eyes. “Fine, yeah, that’s. What happened.”

“I knew it!” 

She bounces on the balls of her feet.

He wonders if she’s ever been still for a moment in her life.

A head pokes out of a room behind the kitchen, pink hair frizzed out and a face smudged with what looks like machine oil. Gundham walks over and seems to have a hushed conversation with him, and Hajime feels a twinge of guilt at having to impose on them.

They’re strangers. 

It’s such a weird, chaotic place. And he’s only just got here. 

Souda gives him a shark-toothed grin and proceeds to show him the couch and bathroom, and he thanks him. It feels weird, to set his suitcase on the ground next to a ratty couch he’s never seen in his life before.

It beats sleeping on the street, though, and he certainly isn’t complaining. Even when he realizes Ibuki’s going to be sleeping on the couch across from his, if the tossed band tee and pile of kandi strewn out from a suitcase is any indication.

He sits down.

Gundham had said something about cooking downstairs, and he can smell something good start to wafte into the small upstairs. What was he supposed to do now?

He felt empty. It felt like his heart had been pulled out of his chest, except he didn’t hurt as much as he felt numb.

It was so stupid.

Had he expected Nagito to just go with him? To abandon the house which was the last remnant of his dead parents? He realizes that he had. Whenever he thought about it, a future without Nagito had seemed distant and unreal.

He knew objectively he shouldn’t be surprised by this. But it was hard to remember they would likely never see each other again after the camp when Nagito was right there, in his arms, or smiling at him behind wild white strands of hair.

They were supposed to have more time. And they just - didn’t. 

Ibuki shakes his shoulder, and he’s stirred from his thoughts. She has a little frown on her face, which does little to prepare him for the way she asks, “Hey… you’re upset because he didn’t come with you, right?”

He laughs, though it’s short and humorless. “Yeah.”

She nods slowly, going to sit down on her own couch and sitting cross legged across from him. It just reminds him of how Nagito would sit cross legged next to him when they were reading or talking, late into the night.

“Mikan didn’t go with you either, though,” he points out. It feels kind of cruel to bring it up, but it’s true.

“That’s different!” Ibuki tells him, fiddling with her fingers and nodding like she’s trying to convince herself. “I only got kicked out because I was trying to stop her from being kicked out, and it worked.”

She’s… right. 

A small part of Hajime wonders if he should be happy about Nagito getting to stay there. Perhaps he should be glad it was just him who got kicked out - glad Nagito was smart enough to bribe the counselor into letting him stay.

He feels selfish for wanting him to come with him - wanting him to stay. Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe it’s better sooner than later, because they’d eventually have to leave each other anyway.

Souda pokes his head up above the staircase’s railing and tells them that the food’s ready. 

It doesn’t really feel real.

It hasn’t really felt real since he got kicked out, but it especially doesn’t feel real to sit in a strangers house and eat some vegan dish he’s never had before. Maybe it doesn’t feel real because it feels so, so normal. 

When none of it is.

Have you ever been to a place you’ve never been before, but there’s something so comfortable about it it feels like familiarity? 

It was like that. But less familiarity and more empty longing.

He was exhausted.

After eating he went back upstairs and laid down on the ratty couch, using his jacket as a makeshift blanket and sighing.

The ceiling here was wood, all splinters and cracks and water-stains. He supposes it was probably a very nice ceiling, a long time ago. At least the boards are less boring than the blankness of the camp.

“I miss him,” he tells Ibuki, when she comes upstairs and starts stringing together a colorful bracelet. Because it feels wrong to leave the silence between them. It feels wrong for her to give him a guilty, pitying look. It feels better to say something.

Ibuki nods sagely, sitting up and leaning back. She’s chewing on her lip, frowning like she’s thinking about what she wants to say.

Hajime sighs and drops his head into his hands, his mind still reeling. How had everything gotten so fucked up? How had he let himself get caught?

They were supposed to leave together. No, it wasn’t as simple as that. They were supposed to be together. Fuck leaving together.

But they had never planned on anything after the camp.

He curses himself for being stupid enough to anticipate anything more than their shared kisses and night together. Because, really, it was so obvious that nothing would come from this - from them. 

God damn it.

“You could go get him.”

The words are simple, but they startle him out of his thoughts as his brain screeches to a halt. Go… get him?

“Like, go try to break him out?” Hajime laughs breathlessly, staring at her with wide eyes. 

She nods, giving him a mock salute. “Absolutely! Are you kidding? It’s a great idea!”

“Uh huh, and i’m sure this has nothing with you wanting to go see Mikan again,” he mutters, but he’s already thinking about it.

Surely, even if it’s just seeing Nagito one more time, it’ll be worth it. 

“Hey!” she exclaims indignantly, before pausing to consider it, “Actually, you know what? Hell yeah Ibuki’s gonna break Mikan out!”

He smiles slightly, grateful for his loud roommate. It’s hard to sink into despair and doubt about any of this when she’s grinning at him, bouncing up and down on her ‘bed’ like it’s the greatest idea in the world.

“We’ve got to come up with a plan,” she announces, putting a finger up with a dramatic flourish, leaning forward. “It’s like a band! You can’t just go up on stage and sing a song, you gotta write that shit first!”

He can’t help but smile, even if it’s hesitant. Surely it can’t be that easy. Or Nagito would have gone with him the first time.

“Yeah, okay,” he says anyway, getting into a similar cross-legged position to appease the girl who’s giving him an expectant stare.

“Like, they’re having graduation in a few days, right? We could soo crash it! Ibuki’s really good at crashing parties. Although,” she wrinkles her nose, “It won’t even be a proper party. With miss prim-and-proper heading the stupid thing.”

“I.. guess? Do you think Souda would let us borrow his truck?”

Ibuki’s eyes widen and she punches his arm, his flinch going unnoticed as her excitement takes over in full. “That’s such a great idea! He has to. I’ll bother him until he does.”

Hajime doesn’t think that’s such a great idea, and grimaces at the thought of Souda having to endure Ibuki’s nonstop music taste or whatever other devious punishment she has up her sleeve until he breaks down and lets them borrow his precious baby. Poor Souda. 

“Uh… or we could just ask him to drive us? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind,” he offers, making a mental note that Souda totally owes him for this. 

Ibuki nods excitedly, head bobbing up and down so fast he’s sure anyone else would be dizzy from it. 

They talk late into that night, not just about their plan. About everything. It feels nice, and it feels right, and it feels like he finally has a friend.

He can’t help but smile as he falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what do we want? fluff! when do we want it? god i dont. fucking know


	13. The end ( probably)

Souda agreed to help them easily, smiling widely. So they pulled up to graduation in the old beat up truck, creeping to a halt behind the same tree the truck had hidden behind the night they snuck out.

Hajime’s sure his heart’s in his throat as he creeps through the bushes. He feels like a secret agent or something with the way that Ibuki is army crawling next to him. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that she’s probably thrashing a lot more and drawing more attention by doing that, because she seems really intensely focused.

There are little white benches lined up, and his classmates are sitting in neat little rows. Nagito’s white hair stands out against the black of the tuxedo, and Hajime can practically sense his discomfort from the position his shoulders are in alone. 

His heart can’t help but twinge a little bit in pity, though it still hurts. Why didn’t you just come with me? Deep down he knows, he thinks, because of their late night chats. He knows how Nagito feels about the house his parents left him - knows it must be a strong attachment. Knows he’s probably not worth throwing that away for.

Nagito seems miserable, though. 

From the very first day at this camp, he’s seemed so lonely. Hajime thought he was starting to break through when he had smiled at him - had kissed him. He missed it with a vengeance, though it had only been a week since he left. 

Everyone’s dressed in black and white, he realizes, probably to symbolize ‘purity’ and ‘blank slates’ and other nonsense of the like. 

He ducks behind a bush, feeling slightly ridiculous, because the whole situation was slightly ridiculous. It feels like a prison break. In a way, he muses, it kind of was.

There’s a little rustle to his left, and he sees dark purple hair disappear into the shrubbery. He allows himself a little smile before he focuses again - at least Ibuki had been successful. 

He waits until the counselor sitting in the front row is done surveying everyone with a rather unprecedented level of scrutiny, and then he practically sprints over to where Nagito’s sitting - back row. Perfect.

He taps him a few times on the shoulder, and Nagito turns around to look at him with complete and utter surprise. 

His mouth falls open, and he looks around frantically before ducking under the bench to talk to Hajime. Hajime feels really silly, on his elbows in the grass, their heads under a bench, but he supposes it’ll have to do. 

“What are you doing here?” Nagito asks, eyes narrowing as he stares at Hajime with the utmost confusion.

“Rescuing you, I would hope,” Hajime laughs, warily shifting and glancing up to make sure nobody is too suspicious yet. 

Nagito’s expression clouds, and he can feel his stomach drop. 

There’s regret in his gaze, pain, misery even. He knows. The house is all he has left of his parents now, and to lose it would be to lose them for good. Hajime feels his own heart ache in sympathy, but he can’t dwell on that now. He’s here for a reason, after all. 

“Let it go. Let them go,” he pleads, desperate and breathless as they crouch in the grass together. Nagito is staring back at him with a blank look in his eyes. It’s searching, torn, desperate. “Live your life - live your life for you.”

Hajime’s sure his voice is breaking, but can’t find it in him to care. He clears his throat and tries again, ignoring the sting in his eyes.

He knows how Nagito feels. Knows he’s clinging desperately to the ghosts of the only people who ever cared about him - if they even did. 

But more than that he knows the other reason, maybe has known it since Nagito made the excuse that morning. Nagito has never let himself be happy or close to another person. Keeping his parents house is another desperate attempt to shove away any attachment and closeness with the living, out of fear and self loathing and hatred and whatever else is swirling deep in those eyes.

“You deserve to be happy - and if - and if you really want this I can’t stop you or change your mind. But you can’t hold onto ghosts forever.”

Nagito’s breath hitches, and Hinata can see the panic in his eyes. Can see the split, where he’s fighting to make up his mind. 

“Nagito Komaeda,” comes Sato’s voice, carrying across the seating area. It feels like the weight of the world - he can see the weight of the world on slim sagging shoulders. 

Nagito is trembling.

Hajime lets go. Because it isn’t - it never was his decision to make. Even if he feels like his heart is being pulled out of his chest, he won’t - and can’t - stop him. He closes his eyes and nods in kind of an empty resignation.

Nagito gets up and turns, and he feels some part of himself shatter right then and there. He’s leaving, he thinks blankly. He’s leaving because he’s choosing it. And he can’t do anything about it.

And of course Nagito hadn’t chosen him. Why would he, after all?

There’s desperation, suddenly, clawing at his lungs like knives. He has to get it off his chest, at least, can’t let those be his last words to Nagito, can’t let him leave on this note when there’s still so much to say.

Or is there really that much to say, after all?

“Nagito?” his voice sounds distant from himself, like he’s hearing a recording rather than speaking. Pale green eyes meet his own.

“I -,” he blinks again, squeezing his eyes shut to block out the part of him that wants to cry. Wants to scream. 

“I love you. Good luck.”

He won’t look at Nagito’s expression - maybe can’t - turning to walk away from all of this. He doesn’t really care much if the counselors see him, anymore, because the admission hurts more than any punishment for sneaking into the graduation ever could.

And it’s true, he thinks, blankly. He hadn’t planned to say that out loud - hadn’t even really confirmed it to himself. And maybe he doesn’t know Nagito well enough to love him. Maybe he’s not supposed to love someone he hasn’t known for that long. But he’s never felt like he had during his time by the white-haired boy’s side.

He should have savored it more, though he thinks bitterly that this is a rather shit time to reflect on that. Too little too late.

He can’t tell if he’s crying as he walks back to the truck, really, but he doesn’t think he is. His eyes sting and his lungs hurt, but more than that he feels detached, like he’s somewhere else watching himself.

He didn’t expect it to hurt this much.

It didn’t hurt this much the first time. Maybe it’s that he hadn’t had a chance to see Nagito the first time, rather than looking him in the eyes and feeling Nagito choose the ghosts. 

He pushes himself up into the truck bed, because he realizes absently that the police will probably be called because this is supposed to be a private event. He taps the roof a few times, and hears himself tell Ibuki to just go.

Maybe it’s better this way.

Nagito can go back to living the way he was before, all alone in an empty house. Hajime can wander through the world, lost and detached from everything he used to hold onto. 

Maybe they were never meant to be.

And then there’s a silhouette running after the truck as it starts to slowly move, and Hajime has to blink and rub his eyes in disbelief to make sure that he’s not hallucinating. 

After staring at Nagito for a few minutes in stupefied silence, he breaks out of whatever little trance he’s in and crawls over to the back of the truck, leaning dangerously out of it and reaching a hand out to Nagito for him to grab. 

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Nagito run before. 

His frail chest heaves as he accepts Hajime’s hand and allows himself to be helped up into the truck bed, Hajime toppling over backwards as he lands on him and squishes him. And there’s an elbow in his ribs and a knee dug into his thigh and he couldn’t possibly be less bothered by it because he’s here. 

He wraps his arms around Nagito’s slight frame and hugs him so hard he can feel his ribs. Which is actually probably concerning considering the other boy has a whole cheap tuxedo on.

Nagito laughs a little, though it sounds vaguely squeak-like. Hinata lets him go and mumbles an apology, staring at him in disbelief. He’s here and he chose to go with Hinata- and he’s sure he’s grinning like a complete moron.

“You… you’re here,” Hinata states, gently cupping Nagito’s face. He feels like Nagito’s going to melt away and disappear again, though he knows that logically it’s an irrational thought.

“Mmhm,” Nagito answers, leaning his face into Hinata’s touch. His hands reach out and bunch themselves up in Hinata’s shirt, holding onto him like he’s afraid that he’s the one who’s going to vanish. 

There’s some sadness in Nagito’s eyes as he turns, glancing over his shoulder at where the graduation is currently taking place. Hajime understands - he doesn’t want to, but he does. So he just reaches out and squeezes Nagito’s hand in what he hopes is a somewhat comforting gesture.

Nagito looks back at him, and he’s smiling. It’s small, tired, but it’s as genuine as it ever is. He leans in and kisses him, teeth clicking together. He feels the flinch, winces himself in both sympathy and pain. It’s messy, but Nagito slinks closer to him and wraps his arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. It only lasts for a moment before the truck hits a particularly violent bump and they break apart, but Nagito is already out of breath. Or perhaps it’s just that he had never caught his breath from running, in the first place.

The truck pulls around a turn and he has to let go of Nagito to steady himself, a little twinge of regret following the action even if he’s sure he’ll get many more opportunities to be as close to him as he wants.

Hajime shouts at him over the wind - because they’re on a more main road now, and the wind is whipping past them and stealing his words - but Nagito just tilts his head. He grabs his hand and pulls instead, moving them up so that they’re sitting just behind the cab of the truck and a little more wind is blocked. 

They’re really going, Hajime realizes with a start - going out into a world he has no idea how to live alone in. He doesn’t have the slightest clue what they’re going to do or where they’re going to go.

But maybe, just maybe, everything will be okay.

After all, how could anything be wrong when Nagito is smiling at him like that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote 24,000 words of unbeta-d bullshit 'but im a cheerleader' au. And i don't know how to feel about it but i hope you enjoyed this mess! thank u for reading ily


End file.
